


The Shadow of Desire

by Sol1056



Series: The Contraries Arc [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, Gen, Language, Mystery, Post-Canon, Violence, just your basic violent genfic, pls note lack of pairings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-03-09 15:36:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13484538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sol1056/pseuds/Sol1056
Summary: Roy Mustang is assigned to track down missing National Alchemists. Edward Elric tags along. [Mild revision of previously-posted work; focus is on smoothing characterization, dialogue, and tension, with little change to most major plot-points.]Roy finished off his drink, holding the glass up as he studied the wet ring it had left on the bar napkin. Carefully he set it back in place, perfectly in line with the circle. He was tempted to find a pen, draw crosshatches and marks across the circle, an idle transmutation circle that would make him able to snap and jab back at Edward. Then the young man would be relieved that their poniard wits were still sharp, and leave, probably in a huff while slamming the door behind him.





	1. brittle

_Expect poison from the standing water_.  
—William Blake, Proverbs of Hell

 

 

 

Roy signed the last transfer confirmation, and flipped the file closed. Setting it in his outbox, he stared for a second at the pile, and then glanced down at his desk calendar. The meeting at five had been cancelled; one of the Alchemists presenting had come down with the flu, or perhaps it was a child who had, or some other unforeseeable reason to move the meeting to yet another day filled with too many meetings.

Seven o'clock: dinner with Beth.

He fought the urge to groan, recognizing the sinking feeling in his stomach that told him he just wasn't up for it. Idly he doodled on the edge of the calendar, hatches and lines that meant nothing, intersected by a circle. A few triangles, off-center.

Off-center, he told himself. That about summed it up. Sighing, he picked up the phone and dialed, having to flip through his address book to find Beth's number. He stood, pushing the chair away behind him as he turned to stare out the window. The broad square at the front of the National Alchemists' Headquarters was mostly empty at this point in the day, with only a few lucky souls going home early. Roy pondered scowling, but was too tired to bother. The phone stopped ringing when someone picked up, and Roy was startled out of his reverie.

"Bennett," the voice said.

"Beth," Roy replied. "Roy."

"Oh, Roy," Beth sighed, a frisson of joy evident in her voice. "What an _unexpected_ pleasure."

He found her voice irritated him for some reason. "Look, about tonight...something's come up—"

"Work?" Her answer came too quickly for the innocent tone to be completely believable. She sounded a little hurt, and he winced, trying to put a reassuring tone back into his words.

"No, something else, but I'll still have to take a rain check." He chuckled, as though he were thinking lascivious thoughts about their plans. "Perhaps..." Roy let the word drag out, building the anticipation. "Perhaps you're available sometime next week?"

"Wednesday," she said. "But if you're busy then, I can—"

"Ah, Tuesday would be better for me," Roy told her, testing. He didn't bother to look at his calendar. She murmured something, and he nodded, forgetting he was on the phone and she couldn't see him. He was watching two men stride across the courtyard, their voices not carrying but their body language clearly that of two good friends, laughing. It made his chest hurt. "Great," he said, when he realized Beth had paused and was waiting for an answer. "Sorry about tonight," he added, as an afterthought.

She said something that was probably a platitude or assurance of some sort, and he hung up. Roy wasn't sure whether he'd just agreed to Tuesday night, or Wednesday, or what time, and with a sigh, he realized he didn't really care. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the desk, and let his head drop.

He thought about calling Gracia, but just as quickly decided against it. She was probably busy, anyway, with Alicia, doing some sort of mother-daughter thing as they always were. He'd just be an imposition. But maybe he could just call to say hello. He thought of uncrossing his arms, to reach for the phone, but found he hadn't moved. No, he certainly couldn't just invite himself for dinner. That wouldn't be proper, and besides, they're probably busy, anyway—

"Mm, now I know there's a new world order," a low tenor voice said behind him.

Roy recognized that voice immediately, but couldn't find it in him to tense. He was just so... _tired_ , his mind supplied. Instead, he grunted, almost shrugging. "What new world order, Fullmetal?"

"The day the infamous Brigadier General of _looove—_ " Edward drawled the word out, twice as long as it needed to be. "—cancels a date." Papers flipped at Roy's side, but he didn't turn to look. It sounded like Edward was paging through the calendar. "Yeah. I was right." Satisfaction was clear in Edward's voice. "Meeting cancelled...and the evening open, and you back out."

"Good to see you, too, Fullmetal." Roy squared his shoulders and stood up, certain his face was an impassive mask. Pulling his chair back, he sat down and pulled the next file open, scanning the page without looking up. "Colonel Kavanaugh is in West City, if you forgot. You're a few hundred miles to the East, if you've got a report."

His only answer was silence, and then Edward settled into the couch opposite the desk, as he had for so many years. Roy fought the irrational urge to tell Edward to get out. To tell him, you don't work for me, haven't for two years. Don't...he bit back the thoughts, and stared at the paper in his hands.

He was not up to this, and tried to focus on the page. He'd read it three times, and couldn't remember a damn word.

"I don't have a report, General," Edward said quietly, then laughed. "Besides, you probably know everything I've done for the past three months, anyway. How about _you_ tell _me_ what I've been doing and we save time?"

Roy looked up at Edward's mock-irritation. The wide eyes, the golden irises catching the late afternoon sun, and the long braid, nearly to Edward's elbows, a thick rope of gold and bronze. The clothes were still solidly black, the white gloves pristine; over it all was that red coat, the indelible visual signature of the Fullmetal Alchemist.

"You've been investigating mining options in the high forest," Roy finally said. "I heard there was a bit of destruction—"

"But only a bit," Edward retorted. "I'm getting mellow in my old age." He cast a sideways glance at Roy, and sprawled across the couch, one arm thrown casually across the back.

Old age. Roy refused to rise to the bait. He glanced down at the calendar again, and just nodded, bending his head to his work.

"General," Edward said, then, softly.

Roy didn't need to look up to see the puzzled frown on Edward's face; he'd heard it in Edward's voice enough over the past eight years. The voice was deeper now, a little; the face, more finely honed and sculpted by the move into adulthood, but the body was still lean and powerful, a weapon that seemed slight until the blade was revealed. Roy signed the first sheet, and moved to the next, automatically, and wondered how soon before he could go home. There was a good bottle of single-malt whiskey he'd been saving for a special occasion.

Tonight should be special. He couldn't keep the bitterness from creeping in.

"General," Edward repeated. He got up, then, moving about, but Roy paid him no heed. A second later, a white-gloved hand landed in the middle of the paper Roy was about to sign. "Brigadier General Mustang," Edward said, formally. "Let's get out of here."

Roy froze, confused, and fell back into annoyance to cover. He dropped the pen, and lifted one hand, as though about to snap. "Fullmetal, I have work to do."

"It's five o'clock, sir, you cancelled a date with someone, and have no plans for the evening," Edward replied calmly. His eyes were assessing, but there was a thin line between his brows. When Roy looked up, Edward's gaze didn't quite make contact, and Roy frowned, wondering what was going on.

"And now you're my social secretary, Fullmetal?" Roy glanced pointedly at Edward's hand. Slowly Edward removed it, but remained standing in front of the desk, his hands on his hips.

"You keep canceling dates, and I'd sign up," Edward shot back. "Gotta be easier than dealing with Kavanaugh."

Roy snorted and signed the next sheet, setting it to the side.

"Come on, General. I'm taking you out for a drink."

Roy's pen suddenly seemed to jump sideways, and he frowned at his hand's unexpected maneuver. Raising his head, he arched one eyebrow at Edward. "You? Taking me for a drink?"

"Yeah," Edward replied, bristling just a bit. "I'm old enough. Have been for two years."

"Not what I meant," Roy said. Edward tensed, the eyes flashing, and Roy realized the young man was ready for a taunt at his height. A height that was now only two inches shorter than Roy's own five-eight. Just as quickly, though, Roy shrugged, and signed the paper as though his pen had never marred the pristine white. Edward was silent, and Roy nearly laughed, knowing his refusal to play their old game had just thrown Edward completely off-balance.

His heart wasn't in it, Roy told the young man silently. Just go away. He wanted to finish this, and to go home. Alone.

"Come on, General," Edward said, very softly. He moved away from the desk, and returned a minute later. "Your coat, General. I'm sure we can get a car to the officer's club."

"You're taking me to the officer's club, too?" Roy set down the pen and looked up at Edward, too tired to pretend surprise or derision. Doing his best to mask a sigh, he stood up, taking the coat and shrugging into it while Edward watched with a scowl. Roy flipped his calendar closed, and as he did every day, took a quick look at the lone picture on his desk, of he and his oldest friend when they'd first joined the military. Saying his silent nightly goodbye with a promise to see him again in the morning, Roy turned to Edward. "I warn you," he said, "I'm not the best of company right now."

"You never are, General," Edward retorted, and waited for Roy to lead the way from the office.

 

 

 

"The officer's club, First Lieutenant Havoc," Roy said, and waited as Havoc struggled into his jacket and went to bring a car around. Edward was silent at Roy's side, a bewildered, tense silence, and Roy realized that Havoc had merely saluted Edward, not greeting him with any jibes. Havoc hadn't even used his old nickname for Edward: Boss.

"This isn't necessary," Roy mustered the energy to say, as the car pulled up in front of the building. He opened the door, but Edward stood behind him, arms crossed, chin down.

"I think I'm beginning to see that it is," Edward replied, and waited. "No, General, after you."

Roy sighed, and got in the car. They didn't speak on the five-minute trip to the club, although Roy could feel Havoc glancing at him in the rear-view mirror. He wondered for the first time if Hawkeye had pushed Edward into this, and decided against it. First, he doubted Edward was even aware until recently of Hawkeye's temporary assignment in the North. And Hawkeye, for all her perceptiveness, had seemed to be fooled for the few months before her departure, expressing only her own dissatisfaction at leaving the office, even in Havoc's capable hands. Roy had realized her assignment was the best application of her skills, and he needed her there; he needed eyes he could trust reporting back to him, even if she wasn't an Alchemist. Once he'd known that, he'd screwed the mask on tight and left it in place until she departed on the train.

It hurt, somehow, to know that there was no one, now, who could see past the mask if he didn't want them to.

"We're here, General Mustang," Havoc said, and Roy realized the car had stopped.

He set his jaw, and got out, not waiting to see if Edward was behind him. Inside, he headed straight for the end of the bar, against the wall, and it was only once he'd hung up his coat on the wall pegs that he realized where he'd chosen.

Well, too late now to request a different location, he figured, and sat down. Edward was settling down next to him, also facing the bar, and Roy raised a finger at the bartender.

"Whiskey on the rocks, double," Roy said. "And...put his drinks on—"

"Stop that," Edward interrupted. "Gin and tonic," he told the waitress. " _My_ tab, for both of us."

"Gin?" Roy settled his elbows on the bar, and looked sideways at Edward.

"Blame Farman," Edward said. There was a flash of something like his old smile, and then he seemed to visibly relax, a casual sinking of his spine. "Stopped by to see Gracia and Alicia," he added, altogether too nonchalantly to deceive Roy.

"Ah." Roy accepted the drink and sipped it, setting it down and staring at the rows of bottles behind the bar. He tightened his fingers around the glass, and did his best to play along. "And how are they doing?"

"Alicia has her father's—" Edward stopped, and there was the clink of ice as he took a drink, setting it down before he tried again. "Alicia is quite the photographer. I got to see all her pictures of flowers and puppies and the rest of her second-grade class. She's very good with the camera."

"Yes, she is," Roy answered automatically. The whiskey burned at the back of his throat, and he was tempted to make a face. It wasn't nearly as good as what he had at home.

"Gracia says you should come by sometime," Edward continued, in a soft tone. "Apparently you've been quite busy—"

"Yes, I have," Roy murmured. He had another sip, and wondered how much longer until he could leave. He didn't want to think about Gracia, or Alicia, or Hawkeye, or Farman, or any of the other people he'd known who weren't there.

"Too busy to keep your dates," Edward said, the jab cloaked with a light observation.

Roy muttered something inaudible, and realized he'd almost finished his drink. He pondered the wisdom of ordering another. He wanted to get stinking drunk, but not in the officer's club. And definitely not with Edward sitting at his side, poking at him with unprecedented grace, seeking some unknown goal.

"So, General, when are you getting married?"

The question was unexpected enough that Roy blinked, and turned on the bar stool to frown at Edward. The young man's eyebrows were raised, his teeth bared in a parody of a smile. Roy frowned, and shook his head, turning back to his drink, and crossing his arms on the bar. He kept his spine ramrod straight, unwilling to let even a moment's weakness show through.

"Who told you I was getting married?" He lifted his glass and swirled it, watching the ice cubes melt clear into the golden whiskey.

"No one," Edward replied, leaning sideways against the bar. For a short man, he could sprawl anywhere, at will, and seem to take up nearly the entire room. "Just...isn't it about time you...y'know, get married and have kids or something?" He leaned back, taking a drink and letting an ice cube slide into his mouth. Edward chewed it noisily around a grin. "Wait too much longer and you'll be too old or something." He swallowed the ice, waiting expectantly for the sarcastic reply.

"I almost got married," Roy said, and wasn't sure why he'd said that instead of something else, something sharp or dismissive.

Edward was silent. In shock, probably. After a few minutes, Edward turned to face the back of the bar, a white gloved hand encircling his glass as he stared down into the liquid, mirroring Roy's position. "What stopped you?" His voice was soft, barely audible over the noise of the bar in the background.

Roy smiled, a little sadly. "She said no." He finished off the last of his whiskey, and signaled the bartender for another.

There was a sharp barking sound, like the beginning of a laugh, and then it cut off. "I'm sorry," Edward whispered.

"Mm." Roy shrugged. "It was a stupid idea, anyway." He watched the bartender pour another double, and pondered the fact that loneliness could be so overwhelming as to make him utter two simple words, that could wreck everything. He hadn't meant it like that, he wanted to say, not for the first or the hundredth time. Or perhaps he did, and the idea of love was just something for people who had time, and lives, and weren't walking goals, reduced to purposes and edges. "It wouldn't have worked out."

"Maybe." Edward swirled his glass. "I broke up with Winly," he said.

That startled Roy, and he looked over to see Edward frowning, the golden rope of braid lying across Edward's shoulder, framing the young man's face. "Hunh," Roy managed, not sure what to say. Congratulations? Better luck next time? Sucks?

"She's still important to me, but I'm gone more than I'm there. We didn't really want the same things...It wasn't fair to her," Edward said, his lips twisted in a wry smile. "Or me, I suppose."

"Mm," Roy murmured. He took a deep breath, and let the mask of the conversational professional drift down over his demeanor. "And Alphonse?"

"Doing well," Edward said, brightening. "He's up to running several miles a day. Even learned how to swim."

"Glad to hear it."

"Hates the girls in Reisensburg," Edward added. Roy blinked, and gave Edward the best version of a surprised look that he could manage. Edward's grin widened. "They're all sixteen-year old nitwits." He rolled his eyes. "There's no way we were that bad."

"No, you weren't, but you were kept busy." Roy snorted, and turned back to his drink. "And I can't imagine _Alphonse_ hates them all." He cast a sly look at Edward. "Winly, though..."

"Oh, yeah." Edward laughed, brightly. "She says she's got to beat them off with a wrench if she wants five minutes of Alphonse's time." He made a show of shuddering. "That's no idle threat, either. And I guess Alphonse does kinda like the attention..."

Even if he's really a nineteen year old who squeezed more living into five years than most grown men do in a lifetime...and now he's in a body that's only a few years older than the one he'd lost. Roy had often wondered whether Alphonse's appearance meant the Philosopher's Stone had limits. Roy realized Edward was still talking, and he let his attention drift back to the conversation.

"...when I finished the assignment in Triex dealing with the flying pigs, I got word that Hawkeye's pregnant—"

Roy choked, catching the last words. "Hawkeye's..." He coughed, feeling the whiskey heat up his throat from going down the wrong pipe. Edward didn't move, waiting, and Roy turned to look at him, somewhere between annoyed at his top staff member not telling him, and stunned to hear the news from Edward's mouth, of all people. Roy tried again. "P-pregnant?"

"Yes." Edward's face was perfectly serious. "With my two-headed love child. Transmutation gone wrong, y'know," he added off-handedly.

Roy glared.

Edward grinned, then slowly relented, turning to face the back bar. His face was studiously neutral when he spoke again. "Gracia was right," he said.

Figures she'd be behind this. Roy's glare faded, and he turned as well, staring down into the half-empty glass of whiskey.

"She's worried about you," Edward whispered. "And...I don't mean to pry, General, but...are you okay? You seem..." Edward shrugged, and ducked his head.

"I'm fine," Roy answered without thinking.

"Yeah, real fine, Mustang," Edward drawled. "Not what I hear...or see."

Roy sighed. "So Gracia set you on me for the night." He lifted the glass to his lips, but paused before drinking. "I'll have to talk to her."

"She'd like that," Edward said, tentatively.

He doubted it, though he only nodded absently.

"She said she hasn't seen a great deal of you..."

Her choice. Or maybe his own. Or maybe it doesn't matter. Roy finished off his drink, holding the glass up as he studied the wet ring it had left on the bar napkin. Carefully he set it back in place, perfectly in line with the circle. He was tempted to find a pen, draw crosshatches and marks across the circle, an idle transmutation circle that would make him able to snap and jab back at Edward. Then the young man would be relieved that their poniard wits were still sharp, and leave, probably in a huff while slamming the door behind him.

That would be normal, but Roy found he couldn't muster the will to play the game. It wasn't that he didn't want to jab at Edward, he realized, a little surprised. He poked hesitantly at the awareness, as though prodding a fresh wound. It was that he didn't want Edward storming off, no matter how amusing that had been for so many years.

No, it was a sign he needed to get his head screwed on straight if he was willing to put up with Edward rather than be alone. He could feel Edward, waiting, beside him, and pushed the glass a half-inch off the water ring, watching it smear.

"I've been busy," he offered, knowing it was a lame excuse. He sat back, clasping his hands in his lap, and fought to get back the arch smile he'd once worn so easily around Edward. "Flying pigs in Triex?"

"Oh, yeah," Edward said, taking the hint and switching topics easily. "Some alchemist was using his neighbor's farm animals for experiments."

"Sounds like a rather low-key investigation for the likes of you."

"Not really. Kavanaugh's sources claimed there were indications of a rebel spy ring, that wanted to use the pigs to send messages." Edward snorted.

"And birds weren't good enough," Roy observed.

"I think the guy was just bored," Edward said, and his words carried more than one meaning. He pushed his glass forward and nodded to the bartender. The bar was filling up behind them, and Edward twisted on the seat to watch the groups of people filing in. "Cause...when people get bored, things tend to get crazy."

"True." Roy arched an eyebrow at Edward. "And you would be Evidence A."

Edward opened his eyes wide, in mock-innocence, then grinned lazily. "Maybe," he agreed. "But Kavanaugh keeps me busy."

"Not busy enough, if the rumors are true about that town self-imploding in Karenstan," Roy mused.

"It didn't self-implode," Edward retorted. "It just...fell in on itself. Once the illegal gold operations were removed from the caverns underneath—"

"The support system caused a cascade reaction and the entire town became one big sinkhole," Roy finished. "Neatly covering most of the evidence, too, which means none of the townspeople could be convicted of any crimes."

"I _knew_ you knew everything I was doing, you cocky..." Edward's mutter faded, his lips twisting.

"You don't work for me, Fullmetal," Roy said, motioning for another drink and starting to feel strangely better. It was good to flex his wit, sharpen it on Edward's steel. "You can speak your mind, now. I'm hardly going to court-martial you for it."

"You try, and I'd kick your ass." Edward leaned his cheek on his fist, and grinned widely.

"You wish." Roy watched the bartender fill his glass again, and decided to slow down. Getting royally drunk didn't seem like such a great plan, now that he had some form of entertainment. "One snap from me—"

"Oh?" Edward raised an eyebrow. "You going for a rematch? My annual review is next month. Clear your calendar—oh, wait, not a problem, you're already doing that as a matter of course."

"Rematch?" Roy allowed a small, cold smile to grace his features. "You'd be toast."

"I've learned a great deal in the past seven years," Edward replied. "You'd be the one begging, this time."

"I doubt it," Roy told him, a little stiffly. "Besides, I'm not going to waste my time fighting someone so—" He waited, allowing himself a private smile when Edward tensed, eyes narrowing. "—so _busy_."

Edward frowned, but the frown twisted, shifting into calculated smile. Score one for you, Edward's expression said, but it was cloaked as someone caught Edward's gaze. The young man was silent for a minute, then turned around to face the back of the bar, hunching his shoulders over his fresh drink.

"There's troubles in the West," Edward said, in an undertone. "Rumors of a large fighting force. The alchemist with the flying pigs—for all his idiocy—had documents indicating arms have been smuggled through the Briggs Mountains. Drachma's influence has shown up in other regions, too."

"Kavanaugh's response?" Roy sipped his whiskey, letting it settle on his tongue before swallowing.

"Told me to lay low and watch for more." Edward shrugged, and grinned, and Roy answered it with one of his own. They both knew the likelihood of the Fullmetal Alchemist laying low was as good as the chances pigs would ever replace homing pigeons. Edward leaned forward, his nose almost to the edge of his glass. "Fighting's broken out in small spots, here and there. Mostly people arguing over whether or not they'll support these rebel forces."

Roy had heard the rumors, and seen the reports back from the field. There were hints that several National Alchemists had also disappeared in some of the hotspots, but they were ones—like Edward—who tended to be gone for long periods without checking in. It would be another month or two of waiting before the military would rouse itself to investigate. What Roy didn't get, though, was word on the people themselves, only on the outbreaks of rioting or fighting, scattered across the countryside.

He watched an ice cube crack in his drink. "The people disagree?"

"Most of them, actually," Edward muttered, his voice low. "They like the peace. Only the ones being ground under the heels of the military are actively seeking an upheaval." He shrugged. "Like Youswell, years ago—"

"With the gold that came and went, overnight?" Roy gave Edward an amused glance.

"Bizarre, hunh," Edward replied, not missing a beat. "Those folks were mad, but they had someone right there, who abused his rank. There are towns with decent military officials, and those towns see no reason to upset the apple cart."

"Based on your travels, what's the percentage?" Roy swirled his glass. The ice clinked. "Rough estimate."

"Maybe...three unhappy villages, for every happy one." Edward frowned, and shook his head. "Perhaps higher. Hard to say. Most of the places I get sent are places with problems." He cocked his head at Roy, his golden eyes glowing in the bar's low light. "Not like Kavanaugh's going to send me somewhere there's nothing going on." He looked pensive, suddenly. "Unless it's Reisensburg."

"Are you between assignments, now? Or on your way somewhere?" Roy recalled seeing some paperwork concerning Edward's upcoming tasks, but he wanted to hear Edward's version, first.

"Between," Edward said. "Technically. Just got back from Reisensburg...figured I'd take a side trip."

He suspected Kavanaugh burned him in effigy every night. The thought made him grin. Letting Edward spend six years doing what he pleased, for the most part. And now the boy—man, Roy amended—thinks trains are his personal transportation system. Don't ever let Edward stumble over one of the distant Port Cities, Roy thought, or there'll be no place in this world safe from his curiosity.

"What?" Edward frowned. "What's so funny?"

"Just thinking your current superior probably has issues with your lack of discipline," Roy observed.

"To put it mildly." Edward spun on the seat, leaning his elbows against the bar. He looked over his shoulder at Roy. "Hungry? It's dinner time."

"Not really." Roy finished off his last drink, and set the glass down. "You go on, if you are."

"You can't live on whiskey alone, y'know."

"Watch me." Roy pushed his jacket out of the way, and dug in his back pocket for his wallet.

"Stop that, General. I do get paid—"

"I know just how much, too. You push it, and I'll see the amount gets reduced substantially." Roy dug out several bills and put them on the bar. When the bartender looked over, Roy gestured to both empty glasses. "I'm going to head—"

"I'll come with you." Edward stood up, and grabbed his coat.

"Not necessary, Fullmetal."

"Sure it is. And we're not on duty, right?" Edward didn't move, standing between Roy and the line of coat pegs. When Roy frowned, then shrugged, Edward looked pleased. "Fine. Name's Elric... _Mustang_."

"Elric." Mustang rolled his eyes. "Get out of my way, Elric."

"What, too short to reach? Need some help?" Edward needed only to tilt his head the barest amount to look Roy in the eyes. He leaned against the wall, pressing Roy's coat against the wood. "Dinner, Mustang. Did you even eat lunch?"

Roy gritted his teeth. "What the hell is this? I want my coat. Move."

"I'm moving," Edward said, and there was a flash of something across his face that went too fast for Roy to identify. Perhaps anger, perhaps hurt, or maybe he was just tired and finally showing it. "So..."

"No dinner. I've got too much work to do." Roy pulled on his coat, and straightened it. Satisfied, he turned and headed for the door, aware Edward was trailing along behind. Outside, he waved for a cab, surprised when Edward clambered in as well. "Fullmetal—"

"Elric."

Roy glowered. "Elric. I can get home fine on my own. Unlike you, I've been drinking for years."

"Decades, even." Edward settled back on the cab seat, and threw one arm over the back of the seat. "I'm bored... _Mustang_. Wouldn't want me to get into trouble, would you? Humor me."

"Hmph." Roy gave the cab driver the address for his apartment, and sat back, staring out the window at the early evening twilight. When the cab pulled up in front of his apartment building, Roy handed several bills to the cab driver. Before Edward could protest, Roy told the cabbie, "And the rest is to take him where ever he wants to go, as long as it's not a strip club, a pool hall, or back to this address." He shut the door, laughing as Edward's scowl resolved into a smug grin.

The cab started to pull away, then stopped, and Roy turned around with a frown to see Edward rolling down the window. The young man leaned out, his braid slapping against the door as it fell over his shoulder. Edward's expression was hesitant, almost shy.

"Hey, Mustang," he called, softly, and smiled. "Happy birthday."

The cab pulled away, and Roy was left on the sidewalk, a little stunned. After a moment, he shook himself, and headed up the steps to his apartment building. It wasn't until he was unlocking the door to his apartment that he realized he was smiling as well.


	2. worn

_Bring out number weight & measure in a year of dearth._  
—William Blake, Proverbs of Hell

 

 

 

Roy woke up in his living room when the first rays of dawn hit his face. Groaning, he scrubbed at his face with one hand, and roughed up his hair before pushing himself upright. The pictures in his lap fluttered to the floor, and he stared down at them, blindly, too preoccupied with trying to figure out why he didn't have a hangover. Remembering, he shook his head at the surreal evening of the day before, and stumbled towards the shower.

An hour later—having had no reason to sit around his apartment and stare at the walls—he left for work. He'd begun coming in earlier, over the past year or so. The fewer people he had over to spend the night, he'd been finding, the better. Letting anyone spend the night only made him late for work, and made the apartment that much emptier when he came home again. And besides, he told himself, waiting for the staff car outside his apartment, everyone he brought home said the same things, made the same jokes. It was all so...rote.

It was a cold, silent ride to Headquarters, and Roy mulled over the day's schedule. He had that meeting at ten with General Mascroft concerning upcoming National Alchemists assignments, followed by another meeting on the reporting system. He paid no mind to the city outside the car window, getting out automatically when the car pulled up to the building. He shoved a hand in his coat, nodding absently as some of the younger military staff saluted him at the door. His footsteps followed the same path as they had the night before, in reverse: long, slow, even, quiet. He'd never counted the steps. It would be the same number, every time.

He wasn't far from his own office when he heard someone say his name. His footsteps faltered, then came to a halt as he listened, curious.

"...Little over a year ago, I guess...when he got his promotion, and Ms. Hughes and Alicia took him for dinner..."

Roy swayed, remembering that night, the restaurant, and Alicia's chatter, and the fact that he'd suddenly realized just how...just how much he'd missed having someone who listened, who saw him not as Colonel Mustang or General Mustang, but as Roy. Over the dessert they'd shared with Alicia, he'd realized how much Gracia was like his old friend, and yet an old friend in her own right. It was as if Maes were there, at the table with them, but in a way that made Roy feel more at ease than he had in years, without that familiar constriction in his chest that signaled hidden grief. How quick to laughter Gracia could be, just like Maes. How she smiled at him over Alicia's head, and he found himself smiling back...

"...She'd come by with lunch, sometimes..."

Roy tensed, finally placing the lowered voice as Havoc. Just as quickly, he was certain the only person who would have asked, the only person who would have been granted such personal insight, would be Edward Elric. Bile rose in Roy's throat. It was bad enough, the night before, to have recalled his fleeting stupidity that ruined everything, but another thing altogether to have to stand here, in the hallway, and listen to it through a cracked door. His fingers itched, and he rubbed his forefinger and thumb together, idly, feeling the glove's scratchy material burn into the pads of his fingers.

"So what happened?" Edward's tenor, puzzlement clear, and perhaps also a hint of...

No, Roy told himself, stop imagining things. Clear your throat and push that door open. Havoc can't possibly have finished compiling the reports from the National Alchemists' reviews from last week, and you'll need those for the meeting at ten. Fury was gone for the week, for his sister's wedding, and the remaining staff had been struggling to cover all the work on their own rather than deal with another inept temporary staff member. He'd need to remind Havoc the reports were top priority. Roy's thoughts were interrupted by Havoc's bitter laugh.

"Nothing, Boss," Havoc said. "Just one day..." Roy could practically hear Havoc shrugging. "Back to business as usual."

That was enough. Roy raised his hand to push the door open. He stared at the array, etched in red on the back of his glove, as if seeing it for the first time. He wasn't sure what it meant, suddenly, and didn't care. Dropping his hand, he turned, and quietly strode the last fifteen feet to his own office door.

 

 

 

"Brigadier General Mustang, I agree. Placement on Bray, Crandell, and Dutcher is approved," Major General Mascroft said, looking around the room. Colonel Parker frowned slightly, but Roy was certain she'd been hoping Dutcher would be moved to her command, rather than Kavanaugh's. Mascroft cleared his throat and shuffled the papers. "I'm still not certain about Jeffrey and Guarino, however."

"Guarino's brother died last month," Colonel Lovell explained. "His low scores reflect that. I've begun the appeal process."

"We'll put him on holding, then," Mascroft said, shrugging. "Jeffrey? This is the second year she's failed to pass the exam."

There was silence around the room, and Roy noted Jeffrey's commanding officer, General Wimmer, frowning down at his papers. Roy sighed, and glanced over his own reports. Crandell would be a valuable addition to the command in the North, but Jeffrey's alchemy, being plant-based, would have been beneficial in the high mountains on the border with Drachma. The logging operations would feel the lack.

The rest of the meeting passed without incident, and Roy nodded at appropriate moments, seeing no need to get involved in the rest of the assignments and transfers. His own preferences had been granted, and more importantly, no one had raised the issue of moving Edward from Kavanaugh's staff to elsewhere. Although, he reminded himself, even if Edward were transferred, he'd probably still hear the news, through the National Alchemists' grapevine.

Roy stood and saluted with the rest of the staff when Generalissimo Thayer stopped by. The man had little to add but a smile and a quick comment, congratulating them with a barbed tease about the lack of explosions, water damage, or holes in the walls. Roy listened, filing the joke away in his head, along with his automatic observations about which people Thayer looked in the eye, and for how long. Then Thayer was gone, and Roy was packing up his papers along with the rest of the group. A few minutes chatting on auto-pilot with Colonel Parker about Crandell's obsession with his motorcycle, and Roy was breezing down the hallways, back to his own office. He passed Havoc in the hallway, and the man saluted but said nothing as he took the papers from Roy.

Back in his own office, Roy closed the door behind himself, and leaned against it, letting his head fall back as his eyes closed. He stayed there for several heartbeats, before realizing there was someone in the office. Warily, he opened his eyes, stiffening his spine as he let the mask drop down over his features.

Edward Elric was leaning against the window, arms crossed, watching him.

"Fullmetal," Roy said, moving to his desk, his expression purposefully blank. "I expected you'd be on your way by now."

"I was bored," Edward said, shrugging. His eyes were narrowed, tracking Roy's movements. "It's almost lunchtime, General."

"So it is." Roy settled himself in his chair and grabbed the thick folder in his inbox. The weekly meeting with the administrative staff was in two hours, and he needed to review the progress updates on the new systems they'd instituted.

Roy realized, halfway through the second page, that Edward hadn't moved. He stifled a sigh, and decided to take the initiative. He closed the folder and settled back, clasping his hands in his lap, and stared at the sofa.

"Take a seat, Fullmetal."

"Elric."

"Fullmetal." Roy didn't look over his shoulder, but gritted his teeth. "I'm on duty."

"I'm not." Edward appeared in the corner of his vision, then, strolling casually towards the sofa and collapsing on it with controlled grace. "Therefore, you're Brigadier General Mustang, but I'm Elric."

"Have it your way...Fulllmetal," Roy added, a smirk almost appearing on his lips when Edward started to look triumphant, then scowled sharply. Roy leaned back in his chair, turning slightly to face away from Edward, staring at the spot Edward had just vacated. "This is twice in two days. Any particular reason I'm owed this honor?"

"Told you already, I'm bored." Edward cocked his head and grinned. Roy's eyebrow twitched, and Ed's grin got wider; he threw his arms over his head, stretching lazily. "Come on, General. Lunchtime. Feed me."

"Feeding you is not my responsibility," Roy shot back. "Go talk Havoc into going with you to the canteen. I'm sure he could use a break." He opened the folder again, and leaned forward, resting his cheek on his fist as he went back to reading.

Edward made a huffing sound. "You're not making this easy, General."

Now he was singing the tune Roy had sung through six years of dealing with Edward. He nodded absently at the quiet humor, his mind already drawn into the endless notations of reporting changes and arguments for and against each. Eventually, he figured, Edward might give up. He doubted it—Edward was as stubborn as rocks in a creek bed—but he could always hope, he told himself. The word choice made his gut clench for some reason, and his fingers tightened on the pen that had found its way into his right hand. He made a few notes in the margins about issues he'd need to raise in the meeting.

"Hmm," Edward mused out loud, "I could always bring lunch up here." Roy glanced up to see Edward eyeing him, an appraising look on his face. "You're too thin, General. The women will abandon you if you're nothing but skin and bones."

Roy snorted. "Doubt it." A flicker of his old self returned, and he arched an eyebrow. "Jealous, Fullmetal?"

Edward glowered. "Hey, I'm not being paid to do this."

"Then why?" Roy nearly bit his own tongue for asking.

"No reason," Edward replied, but his tone was far too casual, and he didn't quite look Roy in the eye.

The powers save Roy from meddling underlings; one Hawkeye in his life was enough. He dropped his eyes back to the paper in front of him. He was snapped out of his concentration not by more from Edward, but by a knock on the door. Roy dropped his hand, looking up to see Havoc saluting.

"Brigadier General Mustang," Havoc said. "Generalissimo Thayer, sir." He saluted again, and stepped out of the way. Generalissimo Thayer stepped through the door, flanked by his two assistants, and Roy instantly came to his feet, saluting as well.

"At ease, Brigadier General," Thayer said. He was an older man, with salt-and-pepper hair, though his neatly trimmed beard was solid white. There were lines around his eyes, from years of looking into the distance, Roy mused, dropping his hand to stand with his hands clasped at the small of his back, waiting. Thayer nodded pleasantly to Edward, who had also come to his feet. Thayer looked back at Mustang, and hummed for several seconds before smiling. "The office life doesn't suit you, General Mustang."

"Sir." Roy kept the frown off his face, but didn't hide his reaction entirely. He narrowed his eyes, uncertain whether Thayer meant it as a compliment or a hidden insult. The Generalissimo's smiles often masked a ruthless edge.

"I've been told that two National Alchemists have disappeared in the field, somewhere north of Hyle," Thayer said, shoving his hands in his pockets. Even in such an informal pose, his back was still ramrod straight. "This is quite distressing."

"Yes, sir," Roy answered, automatically. He could see Edward's eyes widen at the news, and the quick flicker of Edward's gaze moving between Thayer and Mustang. Roy kept his focus on Thayer, ignoring Edward.

"I'm assigning you to investigate, General," Thayer said, and smiled. "Leave immediately. This is the highest priority, and your abilities come highly recommended. I trust you'll be able to find out what happened. Take whomever you feel would be helpful, and keep me informed."

"Sir," Roy said, and saluted. Thayer nodded to each of them, and left, his assistants trailing behind him.

Havoc remained by the door, looking a little stunned, and Roy sighed, staring down at the folder on his desk. He'd like to take Havoc—or Hawkeye—but Hawkeye wouldn't be back for another month. And he needed Havoc to remain, to keep things going here.

But, Roy mused, Breda could handle things in the office. His clearance is high enough, and if we leave tomorrow morning, that should be enough time for Havoc to brief Breda on the additional duties. I wonder if I can borrow back Second Lieutenant Farman on such short notice.

"First Lieutenant Havoc," Roy finally said. "Tell First Lieutenant Breda he's got charge of the office. Fill him in on your duties, whatever Warrant Officer Steckman can't do." Roy began straightening up the files on his desk, his mouth moving as part of his mind calculated whom he'd need to contact, what to take, and where everything was. He made a mental note to buy new razors on the way home; he was pretty sure he was out. "Have someone contact Captain Hawkeye so she knows what's going on, and have Warrant Officer Steckman notify the administrative team—Sally is the person to talk to—about the fact that I won't be at the meeting this afternoon." Roy paused, considered that, and flipped the folder open again. "No, scratch that. I'll be there."

"Sir?" Havoc frowned. "But that meeting is slated for five hours, and—"

"I'm aware of that," Roy said, sitting back down. "Go on, First Lieutenant. You'll need all the time you've got to get First Lieutenant Breda up to speed on your duties. And find out when the first train is leaving, tomorrow morning, for Hyle. We'll be on it." Roy thumbed the pages in his calendar, looking for the notation for the telephone number for Farman's current assignment post.

"Just two tickets, sir?"

"No, three," Roy answered, not looking up. "I'm going to see if Second Lieutenant Farman is—"

"Take me," Edward interrupted. Roy froze, his fingers over his calendar, and slowly looked up to see Edward's wide eyes, the mid-day light arching through the windows to turn the gold into an intense bronze. Edward didn't flinch at Roy's glare. "There's no way you'll get Second Lieutenant Farman here in enough time," Edward insisted. "You're supposed to leave immediately, and Farman's down near Rush Valley, with Lieutenant Colonel Tollett. It'd take him until tomorrow afternoon to get here, assuming you can get a hold of them while—"

"Tollett," Roy repeated under his breath. He shook his head when he realized Edward was still talking. "Fullmetal, no. You're due back at Colonel Kavanaugh's post in another day, correct? You should leave now. It's an all-day train ride." Roy picked up the phone, startled when Edward jerked it out of his hand and slammed it back down. Irritated, Roy snapped, "Fullmetal, that's enough."

"You're being stupid," Edward retorted. "I'm right here. And I'm already packed, too."

"Kavanaugh—"

"—Won't have a problem with it." Edward jabbed a finger at the phone. "Call him. Ask."

"Fullmetal," Roy repeated, his voice sinking into a low growl. The fingers on his right hand were tensed, ready to snap. Behind Edward, Havoc was pressed against the wall by the door, as far away as possible without actually leaving. Edward leaned over the desk, his smile sly. Roy shook his head, glaring. "You're not under my command—"

Edward frowned, then pulled back, nodding, his gaze suddenly contemplative. "No. I'm not. Sir." With a quick bow, he turned and strode from the office, his head high.

Roy blinked, and then realized his hand was still raised. Flexing the fingers a little, he dropped the hand to the desk, staring at the whiteness, the bright against the dark wood of the desk, his thumb on the yellowed papers crimped by the typewriter. Something rustled, and he realized Havoc was still present.

"Dismissed," Roy whispered, and didn't look up as the office door closed. Then, taking a deep breath, he turned the page to continue reading up on the issues to be raised in the afternoon's meeting.

 

 

 

It was almost ten o'clock before Havoc dropped Roy off at his apartment, and Roy was already inside before he remembered he'd wanted to stop by the pharmacy and pick up razors. If he hurried, they'd still be open, and he dropped his briefcase by the door, turning right around and heading out again. The city was gray, the street lamps bronze in the drizzling rain, and it reminded him of Edward's eyes, the golden flecks in the iris cloaking themselves suddenly, relenting and turning away.

Roy pondered the unexpected sensation of disappointment, when Edward had given in so easily. It would have been nice to have Edward along; Roy nearly chuckled at the idea. Having Edward underfoot while tracking down missing National Alchemists was probably the last thing he'd really want, if he were being perfectly realistic. Roy still wasn't sure why he was being sent; it was hardly a job for someone who spent his days sitting behind a desk pushing papers.

That's what he did, really. He barely looked up as he entered the pharmacy. Getting the few travel items he needed, he set them on the counter, paying and accepting his change without a word. The girl murmured something and he merely nodded, taking his package and leaving again. He let the bag swing at his side, and stared at the buildings as he passed. The shop windows were dark, the goods on display lit in streaks, dappled by the raindrops on the windows. A drop hung from a strand of his hair, and a quick breeze blew it against his cheek.

He considered calling Beth; he knew he should. He'd called and spoken to Gracia, keeping the conversation light and distant, but he hadn't known who else might take care of his plants, and he didn't know how long he'd be gone. He'd met with his staff, going over the changes in duties, but had begged out of dinner on the pretense he'd be meeting someone late, after work. Roy wondered whether Havoc were fooled, and decided he didn't care. He'd scored a few points at the arduous planning meeting that afternoon, and could live with the compromises they'd reached. In all, affairs were reasonably settled, and he could leave in clear conscience. It still didn't explain why he'd been assigned the task, but some things, he figured, would just have to wait.

He glanced up at the sky, then across the street to the apartments over the shops. Some of the windows were lit, and he restrained himself from staring. He'd always had a fascination with other peoples' houses, that quick glimpse into a homey peace that had never been his. Something about the glow of lamplight, the random sight of someone reading on a sofa, their socked feet tucked up under them. Once, he'd been passing, coming home late from work as usual, and seen someone reading, like that. The person looked up with a brilliant smile, and Roy thought he'd been caught staring through the dark windows. The smile was full of such wonder and welcome, that Roy hadn't been able to stop himself from smiling in return. Then he realized someone else had entered the living room, offering the first person a cup of something hot to drink.

He'd blinked, and shoved away the ache in his chest, and walked on. Someday, perhaps, he'd promised himself. But not now.

I have more important things to do, he reminded himself, and drew his attention away from those beacons of warmth, shining out across the rain-slick streets. Coming to his own apartment building, he unlocked the front door and let himself inside. His footsteps were ponderous in his ears, but his step was still light, and there was no echo as he climbed to the third floor and unlocked his door.

It took him only ten minutes to pack. He'd traveled enough in his life, in the military, that he knew what he needed and what could be left behind. It was, he realized with an almost-smirk, not untruthful to say there was little to be left behind. Except, of course, his books, but those were also in his head. He didn't read as much as he once had, nor did he spend days on end in the library any more. Hadn't, in years, really, but he told himself he didn't feel the need, now. He studied up when it was his turn for the National Alchemists' review, but for the most part, he was exempt from the more stringent standards, not being a field agent.

Roy hung up his uniform and changed into sweatpants and an old sweater. It was one Hughes had given him, perhaps as a birthday present, or maybe some other reason. He never could tell, with Hughes, although he'd never managed to accept gifts with any grace. Hughes never complained, but simply dropped the wrapped package on Roy's kitchen table and left it there, for Roy to open later, in private. Wearing the item around Hughes and Gracia was enough to let them know it was appreciated.

He picked up the scattered pictures on his living room floor, refusing to look at them before putting them back in their box and setting it on the shelf, between the Compendium of Alchemy and Jeziorski's Thesis on Flammable Properties of Metals. Roy ran his finger down the spine of Jeziorski's Thesis, and smiled. It had been one of his first texts. For a second he was tempted to pull it out, and settle down to read—but he entertained the notion only for a second, before he pushed it away as ridiculous. He would make himself some tea; perhaps have a slice of toast before bed.

Settling on the sofa to read would only remind him of the truth. No one would be bringing him a cup of tea, carrying in a book of their own, to come join him in companionable silence.

Roy sighed, and went to call Beth to give his apologies for canceling a second time.

 

 

 

The morning skies were charcoal gray, and Roy got out of the cab, hefting his suitcase and briefcase as he walked into the station. Havoc was waiting, his eyes bleary, the eternal cigarette unlit as the man waited on the station's benches. When Roy approached, Havoc stood up, saluting sharply.

"I never was able to contact Lieutenant Colonel Tollett, sir," Havoc said, apologetically. "I checked in the office before I came here, and there's been no answer. I left word asking him to send Second Lieutenant Farman to join us directly, when he can."

"Good." Roy set down his luggage, and sat down next to Havoc. He accepted his ticket from Havoc, glancing it over, then up at the clock on the wall. "Fifteen minutes. We'll be staying at the officer's quarters in Hyle, tonight." He wanted to tuck the ticket away, and close his eyes, and ignore everything around him, but he could feel Havoc's eyes on him, and he forced himself to smile. It was a shadow of his smirk, he knew, but perhaps it would do. "I hope the girls in Hyle are prettier than in Central," he murmured.

"Farm girls," Havoc said, grinning widely. "Maybe not prettier, but a great deal cheaper."

"Go figure," Edward said behind them. "That would be your first priority."

Roy suppressed a groan and dropped his chin, crossing his arms in exasperation as Edward came around the bench to drop a battered suitcase next to Roy's luggage. A flash of white caught Roy's gaze, and he looked over to see Havoc handing a ticket to Edward.

"What?" Roy couldn't keep the surprise from his voice, or the annoyance. "Fullmetal, we don't require a send-off party—"

"I wouldn't waste the time," Edward retorted, pocketing the ticket with a smug grin. He spread his legs, shoulder-width apart, and put his hands on his hips. "I'm not here under your command. I'm here on temporary loan, from Colonel Kavanaugh to Generalissimo Thayer."

"I'm not amused, Fullmetal." Roy didn't bother to glare. He had a sinking feeling there was nothing to be done about it, but he refused on principle to give way that easily. Roy glanced at Havoc, who barely managed to wipe the grin off his face in time. Roy arched an eyebrow. "I presume you knew about this?"

"Ah, sir," Havoc winced, but the smile was still lurking on his face. "I found out this morning when I stopped by the office. Generalissimo Thayer's assistant, Marguerite, found me and gave me the temporary transfer orders." He fished an envelope from his pocket, and handed it to Roy. "I was going to—"

"Mm," Roy muttered, accepting the envelope and opening it. Scanning the letter quickly, he glowered, but tucked the letter away without a word. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what kind of fast talking Edward had done to weasel his way into the assignment. Edward was still giving him that smug smile, but the young man's eyes were a bit wide. Roy paused, noting that, and wondering what had Edward so on edge, even if Edward were slightly better at masking it now than he had been as a boy.

The sound of a train whistle, from far off, could be heard, and Havoc stood up. Roy stood as well, and glared at Edward until the young man moved away from Roy's luggage. Havoc picked up Roy's suitcase and his own, and Roy grabbed his briefcase, then led the way to the train platform. Edward stayed at Roy's shoulder, suitcase in hand, and that forsaken smirk still on his lips. He was entirely too damn pleased with himself, and it grated on Roy's nerves.

"Fullmetal," Roy ground out. "The fact that you're bored does not give you the right to trot along on my assignment."

"Oh, but sir," Edward replied, lightly, "I'm not bored anymore."

Roy grunted, and turned to face the approaching train.

"And hopefully, soon, you won't be either," Edward whispered behind him. "Then we can all go back to normal..."

The train's screeching brakes covered most of Edward's words, but Roy still picked up the gist. He tensed, wondering what Edward meant, and decided to act as though he hadn't heard. It would be easier that way, he told himself.


	3. taciturn

_Drive your cart and your plow over the bones of the dead._  
—William Blake, Proverbs of Hell

 

 

 

Roy stared out the window, waving away Havoc's suggestion for lunch. It wasn't that he didn't feel hungry; perhaps he did. It was the landscape outside the window, and the memories of another train ride, unplanned, unexpected, if in the opposite direction. The sensation wasn't alleviated by the fact that he could see the broad plains, undulating in the mid-day light, where on that trip he'd only his own reflection in the train's windows.

Edward was stretched out across the seats opposite Roy, his feet kicked up on the armrest, his head padded by the red jacket, balled up into a pillow. He was sleeping with his back to Roy, which to Roy meant either Edward was unconsciously thumbing his nose at Roy with the fearless gesture, or that Edward truly trusted Roy to not attack him from behind while he slept. Roy wasn't sure which, so he leaned back against the stiff leather padding of the seat, crossed his arms, and let his chin drop to his chest.

Havoc had taken up position outside the private room, preferring to stand duty rather than laze inside with the two of them. Roy knew it was part of the traveling procedure, but somehow, it made him feel even more isolated. He'd made a show of being irritated when Edward had tromped in behind him and taken up the entire seat opposite, but at the same time...

He shifted on the seat, and tilted his head to stare out the window, reviewing the geography in his mind. Hyle was south of Youswell, on the other side of Mount Fuji. They'd be taking the train lines that went south of the range, and from there heading to Soswell, another mining town where one of the National Alchemists was when she last checked in.

Roy stretched out his legs, taking advantage of Ed's sleep to allow himself to slouch, just a little. Letting his eyes close against the memories of other trips east, he drifted into sleep, as well.

 

 

 

He came awake again when the train switched tracks, rumbling noisily over the split, as they turned towards the south, taking the fork down towards Hyle. It took a minute for Roy to register that part of his discomfort was the peculiar sensation that someone was staring at him. Opening his eyes further, he looked across the cabin to see Edward sitting up straight, his hands on his thighs as he watched Roy intently. 

"What?" Roy frowned, and turned his head towards the window. The land was getting hillier, as they neared the mountain range that split Amestris from the desert beyond.

"You don't snore," Edward announced.

Roy blinked, and snapped a suspicious look at Edward, but the young man's eyes were open wide, as though he were contemplating something important. "Pardon?"

"You don't snore," Edward repeated.

"I see. And this has what to do with what?" Roy crossed his arms tighter, and pushed himself up so he was sitting straight in the seat.

"Just noticing." Edward shrugged, and leaned sideways on the seat, kicking one leg up onto the seat. He leaned his head against the armrest, an awkward position that looked it would give him a crick in his neck. "Some people snore. Alphonse does, sometimes." He smiled, a secretive, wistful look, then turned his head to grin widely at Roy. "Major Armstrong snores like a freight train."

"Mm." Roy gritted his teeth. This was not the caliber of conversation he was expecting, but he'd hardly spent the past years traveling with Edward. He wasn't sure why he'd started, now.

Edward was silent for several minutes, and gradually Roy began to relax. He pondered getting out his notes, and reviewing the last few reports from the missing Alchemists. He didn't actually like to work on trains – assuming he ever really liked any of the paperwork, anyway – since trains seemed more like a time to watch the scenery go past, and to mull over things he never had time to consider.

Maybe, a small voice whispered in his head, you just miss having a chance to daydream.

He snorted, and nearly missed Edward's next words, the young man spoke so softly.

"Mustang...you have a purpose, right?"

"Hm?" Roy frowned, considering that, and nodded. "I do."

"What..." Edward's lips were pursed, and his eyes were hooded, as though looking into the distance. "What will you do when you get there?" He glanced sideways at Roy, a quick, surreptitious look, his long eyelashes masking the gleam of gold. "I mean, after that. What then?"

"Then I take up the next set of goals," Roy answered, carefully. He didn't look at Edward, but kept his gaze set on the mountains in the distance.

"What if...what if you didn't have any?" Edward frowned, and Roy could see in his peripheral vision that the young man was fiddling with the hem of his short black undercoat. Edward shifted on the bench, the leather creaking under his weight. "What would you do then? Wouldn't it be...kind of..." He waved one hand, and cocked his head at Roy, a quick grin flashing across his features. "Pretty stupid, eh?" He jumped up, stretching, and headed for the door. "I'm hungry."

With that, he shut the door behind him. Roy stared at the door for several heartbeats, and settled back in the seat.

He could have a hundred years, and he'd still never know what to expect next from Edward.

 

 

 

The train pulled into Hyle by mid-afternoon, and Roy had to grind his teeth to keep from yawning. The heat of the winter sun, beating down through the window, and the flashes of gold through the trees had him nearly hypnotized. It hadn't helped that each flash of sun in his eyes reminded him of that quick, bright glance from Edward: distance, and longing, in the same heartbeat. Roy sighed, and took their suitcases down from the overhead rack, while Havoc chatted with the conductor in the hallway. Edward was nowhere around, and in fact, Roy realized, he didn't think Edward had been back since he'd gone in search of food. 

Roy shrugged and moved Edward's suitcase into the hallway, along with his briefcase. Havoc noticed and grinned, moving past him into the cabin to retrieve the rest of the suitcases.

"Could you leave that one on the platform?" Roy pointed to the suitcase, and the conductor nodded. "I'm sure the Fullmetal Alchemist will come by and get it at his convenience."

"Oh, him?" The conductor laughed, his face wrinkled enough to make his eyes disappear at the expression. "He's been in the dining car for the past two hours. Never seen a boy could put that much away at once."

Roy shook his head, and picked up his briefcase. Havoc was right behind with their luggage, as Roy stepped off the train to find a line of men in military uniforms waiting for him. He squared his shoulders, his gaze traveling the line to determine ranks, to see if he needed to salute anyone in return. There were six, lowering their arms as he nodded, and one stepped forward, smiling nervously.

"Brigadier General Mustang," the man said. He was Havoc's height, with thin brown hair that lay flat on his head except for a single cowlick at the back, which stood straight up, making him look as though he were perpetually startled. "I'm First Lieutenant Gautreau. Welcome to Hyle. We have a car waiting to take you to headquarters, where we'll debrief you—" He paused, his gaze darting back and forth between Roy and Havoc. "—Unless you'd rather relax after your trip, and have dinner...we can meet in the morning." He clasped his hands, waiting hopefully.

Roy caught a flash of red, getting off at the far end of the train, and glanced over at Havoc. His First Lieutenant gave him a inscrutable look, but Roy had known the man long enough to understand that Havoc was neutral about it. Roy looked back at Gautreau, and smiled tightly.

"Debriefing now is fine," he said. "Our luggage—"

"I'll have someone take that to your rooms, sir," Gautreau said.

 

 

 

"Victoria Hogan, the Mechanical Alchemist, stayed here with her husband and daughter on their way to Soswell," Gautreau said, handing Roy several sheets from a folder. 

They were ensconced in the headquarters' meeting room, with a large window looking out over the small city, and Roy tilted the sheet away from the window, against the late afternoon sun's glare. He glanced over the sheets, noting that one was a copy of the check-in for the officers' barracks. The Alchemist had arranged for two rooms; one for she and her husband, and a second one for their twelve-year old daughter. Roy nodded, flipping to the second page, which was a list of Hogan's known movements while in Hyle.

"When we heard you were coming, I had my staff speak to everyone who might've seen or dealt with her, while she was in town," Gautreau explained. "We didn't know she was missing, I'm afraid." He looked worried, and his nose twitched.

"We're not certain she is missing," Roy answered smoothly. "She simply hasn't checked in, but she's a long-term field agent, who often spends months at a time on assignments."

"She must be pretty important," Gautreau replied, his eyes wide. "I mean, to send a General after her." His eyes went wider. "Unless she'd done something illegal?"

Roy noticed Havoc giving him an amused look, and he arched an eyebrow in response at Gautreau. "Not that I know of, unless your sources indicated some suspicious behavior?"

"Oh, no, no," Gautreau said, frowning. "No, not really. Just some shopping, sight-seeing – we have some beautiful parks, and a zoo – and then after two days, Hogan and her family took a carriage to Soswell."

"Any word from Soswell whether she arrived?" Roy looked over the rest of the papers, and slid them across the table to Havoc.

"We're still waiting for word," Gautreau replied. "We actually only found out about your arrival several hours ago, so my counterpart in Soswell might still be compiling any information."

"I see." Roy nodded, and clasped his hands in his lap, leaning back. "Did you have a chance to meet with the Mechanical Alchemist, while she was in town?"

"I had dinner with her, the first night. My wife has a thing about Alchemists," Gautreau said, flushing slightly. "It's..." He shrugged, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Kind of a hero worship thing. But Hogan was very gracious about it. We had a wonderful time." He smiled, a bit wistfully. "She had just come from Rush Valley, and had the most amazing stories to tell..."

"Mm." Roy looked over at Havoc, who was reading the papers carefully. "Did Hogan speak of her plans, in your presence?"

"Not really." Gautreau gave Roy a bewildered look. "It's all in there. I wrote up my recollections of the evening, and put them in the file, as well. She said she was on assignment for General Wimmer. Something mechanical, I suppose, given that was her specialty." Gautreau eyed Roy's gloves, and the red array emblazoned on the back, then raised his gaze to meet Roy's. "I'm not really sure how that works, to be honest."

"Affinity, and a great deal of study," Roy murmured, and stood. "We'll review these, and if I have any questions—"

"—My staff is at your disposal, as am I," Gautreau said, standing as well. Havoc stood, and Gautreau saluted Roy.

"Thank you," Roy said, and left the room, Havoc right behind him.

In the hallway, they were quiet, until they'd left the building, walking across the street to the officer's barracks. Havoc tucked the folder under his arm, shoving his hands in his pockets as the chilly winter wind swept down the cobblestone streets.

"Sir," Havoc said, as they stepped onto the sidewalk, "is it just me, or does that man seem too mousy to have ever managed a promotion?"

"Not really," Roy replied, amused. "You've just been working for me for too long."

Havoc chuckled, and opened the door for Roy.

 

 

 

"This is why I don't like these kinds of things," Roy muttered, straightening his jacket one last time before the car arrived. "It's the endless hobnobbing."

"And not the fact that the hostess is married?" Havoc's question was quiet, as though he didn't expect Roy to have heard him, and Roy let the insubordination pass without comment.

Roy glanced around the barracks lobby, mildly annoyed that Edward had disappeared and had yet to show up again. He wondered where the young man was staying, and mentally shrugged. Edward wasn't along under his command, although he hoped Edward had gained the tact in early adulthood to realize upstaging Roy would not result in a pleased General. No, the true issue was the sense of being on display, of knowing it's an evening where one's presence is being used for others to gain favor or prestige.

He sighed, and squared his shoulders, seeing the military car pull up in front of the barracks. Together, he and Havoc stepped out into the cold winter night, ready to deal with Gautreau and his wife, the Alchemist-worshipping hostess.

 

 

 

The evening ended at nine, to Havoc's shock and Roy's private relief. Accepting their coats and the car ride back to the barracks, they split at the lobby, Havoc heading out to find the nearest bar. Roy shook his head at the invitation, unwilling to set aside the formality of their ranks, even for one night. Trudging up the stairs to his room, he unlocked the door and stepped inside. This time, he checked the room completely before sinking down into the nearest chair with a sigh. He chuckled to realize he was still on edge from having let down his guard without realizing Edward was present. 

After several minutes of contemplating the utter inanity of Gautreau's wife – who seemed to rival hamsters when it came to intellect – he pushed himself out of the chair and stripped off his jacket. Hanging it up, he dug around in his suitcase for his off-duty khakis. Changing into them, he left his shirt untucked as he turned in a circle, staring at the small room. The bed seemed comfortable enough, and the desk would be useful, he figured.

Assuming he actually wanted to do any work. None of the information in the file seemed useful, but it probably wouldn't hurt to review it again. And it was only nine-thirty, too; if he went to sleep now, he'd be awake before dawn. But what he wanted was a comfortable chair, like his chair at home, which was perfect for long hours sitting and reading the newspaper. Or, in this case, reading pages of transcripts; he sighed, and picked up the folder, leaving his room in search of the officer's lounge.

Most barracks had them, as a small room down at the end of each floor where off-duty officers could relax. Some even had small radios, or perhaps a turntable and a collection of records in the stereo cabinet. Roy was mostly hoping for a cup of tea, and he had to shake his head at the realization that he'd be sitting in a room where no one would bring him any. It made him pause, and he almost turned around and headed back to his room, but something made him continue forward.

When he walked into the lounge, somehow he wasn't surprised to see Edward sitting on the sofa. The young man's boots were on the floor by the sofa, one leg stretched out along the sofa, the other leg tucked under him. His head was down, and he was reading a newspaper. He didn't look up at first, when Roy walked in, then did, and his eyebrows shot up.

"Thought you were supposed to be living the high life at First Lieutenant Gautreau's place," Edward said, leaning back and resting his head on the back of the sofa as he gave Roy a smug smile.

"Yes, well," Roy replied, looking around the room. The sofa faced a low table, and two chairs, each of which looked distinctly uncomfortable, and neither of which had foot rests. Edward's red coat was draped over the back of one. Roy preferred footrests, given the choice. He frowned absently at Edward.

"They're as bad as they look," Edward said, jerking his head toward the chairs. "Fine, I'll make room," he added, grumpily, making a face before moving his leg to bring his knee up almost under his chin.

"Mm." Roy was torn between giving Edward a smug look, and smiling in amusement. He settled for a sardonic glance, and settled at the opposite end of the sofa from Edward. Crossing his legs, he opened the folder and began reading over the notes Gautreau's staff had compiled.

There was silence for several minutes, broken only by the sound of Edward turning the pages in the local newspaper. After a few minutes, Edward dropped the paper in his lap with a dramatic sigh.

"Too bad I never got assigned here for any reason," he announced. He kicked at the floor with one socked foot, then twisted sideways, throwing his leg over the arm of the sofa. "This place would've been a nice change."

"Hm?" Roy was reading the shopkeeper comments about Hogan, and only distantly registered Edward's complaint.

"They _really_ like Alchemists, here." Edward scowled, and rustled the newspaper a few more times, flipping through the pages. "This is the newspaper from the bottom of the stack...dated two months ago. Three National Alchemists came through the town, and each one was announced in the paper." Edward snorted. "Surprised they didn't give a ticker tape parade or something, the way the newspaper carries on."

Roy blinked, and looked up, staring blindly at the dark windows of the lounge as he measured Edward's words against what he'd been reading. It had seemed peculiar, somehow, given that most citizens in the country almost universally hated National Alchemists. He'd assumed the shopkeepers and military staff had adjusted their comments – or had been edited – to present their reports in the least insulting light. The possibility that these effusive commentaries were the original statements hadn't occurred to him.

"You spent the evening around the town," Roy hazarded. Edward nodded, his expression still distant, and Roy raised an eyebrow. "How were you treated?"

Edward shrugged. "Okay, until someone saw my watch. Then it was like...royalty." He glanced sideways at Roy, a bit smug. "But I figured that was just my illustrious reputation."

"Or infamous," Roy muttered.

"Jealous?"

Roy didn't grace Ed's taunt with an answer, but shrugged.

"What time is it?" Edward sat up, dropping the newspaper as he glanced around the room.

"You have a watch," Roy reminded him without looking up.

"Hmph." Edward wriggled sideways, digging into his pocket and pulling out his watch. Flipping it open, he hummed under his breath for a second, then got up. "Gonna call Alphonse," he said, and was gone in a swirl of black coat and padded footsteps.

Roy watched the door swing halfway shut behind Edward, and shook his head. After a minute, he set down the papers, and decided he'd check down at the front lobby to find out about where he could get some tea. Something, he decided, since the chances of a good whiskey were probably nil. Closing the folder, he set it on the sofa, and headed for the door. It swung inward on silent hinges, and he was about to step into the hallway when he heard Edward's voice floating down the hallway towards him. In the empty space, it echoed eerily, and Roy found himself listening despite the firm knowledge that he shouldn't impose on Edward's call to his brother.

Second time in two days he was eavesdropping. He shook his head at his own curiosity; his sources needed improving if he was sinking that low.

"...No, Mustang's..."

Roy's ears perked, and he found he couldn't move out of the doorway, listening intently.

"...Al, it's not like that. I mean, I know the General's been...yeah." Edward sighed noisily. "It's like...he's not there. At all. I don't know! Maybe someone replaced him with a much calmer replica or something."

Roy snorted quietly.

"Oh, yeah...I know, I know." There was a thumping sound, which Roy recognized as Edward's automail foot banging against the plaster walls. "It's just...Gracia was worried, and I figured she was just being...y'know, _Gracia_. But she was right. It's like...he doesn't really care. He doesn't seem to be listening, and it's like...No, it's _different_...I don't know..." Edward's voice faded, then came back in a quiet hiss. "Alphonse...Mustang doesn't even...y'know...pick on me. Not _once_. Isn't that...weird?"

He was silent for several minutes, and Roy held his breath, wondering if Edward had hung up. But Edward's quiet chuckle echoed down the hallway, and Roy relaxed.

"Yeah, maybe. I mean, he is getting _old_...hard to tell."

Roy rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, I don't know how long I'll be here. Hyle's okay...you'd like it. It's like Dublith – not too big, not too small – but here everyone likes National Alchemists. Cool, hunh...yeah...and then we head to Soswell, see what we can find out there...yeah. I will. Yeah, yeah, give her my love, too. No, Al...Al? That's not really..." Edward groaned, and cut it off abruptly. "Hey, Winly."

Edward fell quiet again, and Roy made a face, trying to keep from laughing, listening to the grumbling in Edward's tone.

"No. It's fine. No, no fights...yet. I mean, no! I won't break it. Yes, this morning! I even brought the oil with me!" Edward's voice went up to a dull shout. "Winly! Come on, I'm not—okay, that one time—okay, maybe twice." Edward made a strangled sound. "Three times. Fine! But I'm—look, I've got to go. Uh, someone needs the phone. Yeah, yeah, I will—"

Roy stepped back into the lounge, closing the door softly, and quickly made his way to the sofa. He was settled into his spot, the folder open on his lap, when Edward stormed back in and threw himself down on the sofa with a huff. Roy glanced over, casually, and had to struggle to hide the smile at Edward's dark countenance. The young man was collapsed onto the sofa, his hips on the edge, his legs stretched out wide, his chin pressed almost to his chest as he glowered at nothing in particular. Roy figured that was his cue, and set the folder aside.

"I'm going for tea," he said, feeling a bit awkward at offering the explanation. Something twinged, remembering Ed's supposedly private words – _it's like...he doesn't really care...he doesn't seem to be listening_ – and Roy paused, wondering if he should say more. No, he told himself, if I do that now, he'll know I overheard. Roy frowned, a little surprised to find that he gave a damn what Edward thought of his behavior, and quietly closed the lounge door on the sulking young man.

When he arrived in the front lobby, the evening clerk informed him they had no milk for tea, and Roy drummed his fingers on the front lobby desk. He'd been in the mood for some strong tea, with cream. It was a wintertime habit, really, and the cold winds rattling the window of the lounge were probably what had put him in the mood.

"We do have hot chocolate," the woman said, smiling nervously as she fingered the strands of gray hair hanging down from her bun, tucking them behind her ears. Roy stopped his annoyed fingers, and considered hot chocolate versus tea without cream. Then he thought of reading on the sofa, and Edward's phone call, and rather unexpectedly heard words coming from his mouth that he hadn't intended.

"Two cups, actually," he told the woman, with a sly smile, as though letting her in on a secret. It worked, and she twittered and blushed, then disappeared into the back. A few minutes later she returned, still blushing, with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Roy took them with an abbreviated bow and a wink, and headed back up the stairs.

At the lounge's door, he stared down at the mugs, and wondered if he were insane for doing such a thing. He wasn't sure he would have offered, let alone done it, if it had been one of his dates. Normally they offered too soon for him to ever need to extend such hospitality; it was always as though every woman had to fall over herself to make sure he had the soft spot on the sofa, the just-right temperature of coffee, the spotlight, the consideration. Roy raised an eyebrow, amused at the comparison. The chances of Edward Elric ever going out of his way to make sure Roy Mustang had the softest cushion under his derriere were probably about as high as one of those damned flying pigs becoming the next Generalissimo. Roy shook his head at the mental picture, and pushed the lounge door open with his hip.

Edward was still on the sofa, but he looked up with a frown when Roy entered. The frown grew deeper as Edward's gaze traveled down to the mugs in Roy's hands, and then – for just a second – the most brilliant smile flashed across his face, the eyebrows up in surprise, the mouth open in a little 'o' – and then it was gone, shuttered, locked away.

It made Roy's chest ache, but he steeled himself, and strode across the room, holding out one mug. "Hot chocolate," he said, a bit gruffly.

"Oh." Edward stared at the mug, then took it, sipping gingerly.

"It's not poisoned," Roy said, without looking. He set his mug on the table, and took his seat again, opening the folder to where he'd left off. Then he leaned forward, picking up the mug, and resting it on the arm of the sofa as he went back to reading. Edward slurped noisily at the other end of the sofa.

Roy wanted to smile. He didn't dare. Instead he studied the transcripts, and allowed some small, secret part of himself to enjoy the moment.


	4. distant

_If others had not been foolish, we should be so._  
—William Blake, Proverbs of Hell

 

 

 

"This is Major Whitmere," Gautreau said with a smile as the man followed him into the meeting room. "He's come down from Soswell with the information about the Mechanical Alchemist."

Roy nodded at the man's salute, and accepted the papers. He absently pulled his coat tails out of the way and took the nearest seat, flipping quickly through the two pages. Havoc was at his right, waiting with the rest of the transcripts they'd accumulated. It took only a minute, and Roy was handing the two pages to Havoc.

"She arrived, and then left," Roy said, frowning slightly. Gautreau and Whitmere sat opposite him, a striking contrast. Where Gautreau was lanky, with thinning brown hair, Whitmere was squat, with curly blond hair that looked like someone had glued yellow carpet to a billiards ball. Whitmere's expression, however, was not nearly as obsequious as Gautreau's.

"Yes, sir," Whitmere said. "As you can see from the copy of the military reports, she filed her presence with us, and then continued over the mountain towards Youswell."

"Why wasn't Central notified of this?" Roy narrowed his eyes, but kept his demeanor calm.

"They were," Whitmere said, also tensing. He pursed his lips, his eyes on the ceiling before giving Roy a puzzled look. "The paperwork was sent off in our weekly mailing, along with the usual reports."

"She arrived, signed in, stayed the night, and left with her family." Roy stated it flatly. Whitmere nodded, and Roy turned his chair to stare out the window at the small valley town. "Did she meet with anyone else? Did she discuss her plans with anyone other than with you, when checking in?"

"Ah..." Whitmere shrugged. "No. She said something about wanting to meet with the Cragrock Alchemist, but I think Cragrock arrived a week too late."

"Cragrock," Roy murmured.

"Elidia Yasika," Havoc told him, in an undertone.

"She's been in the town for two months, now," Whitmere said. "Lovely woman. She's been infinitely helpful with our mining operations."

Roy nodded, still pondering the news that Hogan had continued over the mountains. Shifting in his chair, he turned to study Whitmere and Gautreau, his hands clasped loosely in his lap. "Hogan crossed the mountains with her family...in October, it would have been?"

"Early October," Whitmere said. He pointed to the paper in Havoc's hands. "The exact date is there."

"October eighth," Havoc read.

"Are the roads well-traveled?" Roy kept his voice light, with just a hint of curiosity and puzzlement.

"We have a lot of traffic between Youswell and Soswell, sharing technology and miners, as each cycle through operations." Whitmere glanced at Gautreau, who nodded and smiled.

"It's back and forth, all the time," Gautreau said.

"When one project ends," Whitmere explained, "half the town picks up and heads over to the other. Then they come back when we hit another vein. With the Cragrock Alchemist in Soswell, though, most of the work's been pretty steady on our side."

"What's her specialty?" Roy cocked his head, keeping his eyes wide.

"Tunnels," Whitmere said, laughing. "She can clear out fifty feet of solid rock..." He snapped his fingers, and chuckled.

"Like that," Roy murmured, smiling just a little. He glanced at Havoc; the man's smile was subdued but his eyes showed his amusement at the private joke he and Roy were sharing. Roy's eyebrow twitched, and he gave Whitmere and Gautreau a pleasant smile, and stood. "Gentlemen, it seems to me that perhaps we should continue on, to Soswell and then to Youswell."

"It's mid-December," Whitmere said. "The roads are much rougher now, and if you're not used to mountain travel..."

"Are they completely impassable?"

"Not really." Whitmere considered it for a moment. "Just difficult."

"We'll head to Soswell, and speak with Cragrock, then," Roy replied. Havoc stood as well, saluting the other two officers, who saluted Roy in turn. Roy nodded, and led the way from the meeting room.

 

 

 

Roy made a disgruntled sound, looking at the paper taped to the door of his temporary quarters. Flipping the note open, he read the carefully scrawled lines, then read them a second time, tempted to snap his fingers and torch the innocent letter.

_Brig. Gen.—Gone to Soswell. You take too long and talk too much. —Fullmetal._

He shoved the letter in his pocket, and smiled wryly. Then he went to make a phone call to headquarters.

 

 

 

"Ready for Soswell, sir?" Havoc stuck his head in Roy's open doorway, as Roy set the packed suitcase down on the floor.

"Almost," Roy said. "The paperwork for Hogan's check-in arrived yesterday in Central," he added, conversationally.

Havoc whistled and leaned against the doorframe. "Just over two months late."

"Impeccable timing," Roy agreed blandly.

"So why aren't we heading to Central...if you don't mind me asking, sir," Havoc said, and grinned.

Roy paused in packing his briefcase, and shook his head curtly. "I'm not entirely certain. I expected the same thing, myself, if Hogan's whereabouts are now known..."

He considered that. Whitmere had implied that Hogan's work would be in the mining camps, dealing with the technology used to raise the ore from deep in the earth. It would be two days hike to the site, and two days back again. The majority of the workers were actually in the town itself, dealing with the smelting operations. Still, messages would be carried back and forth, and it should not have been an issue for Hogan to check in again in Youswell. He shook his head, and snapped the locks on his briefcase.

"Soswell, First Lieutenant," Roy said, sharply. "Carriage leaves in an hour."

"Already packed, sir," Havoc replied. "Just coming by to get your luggage."

"Ah." Roy checked the room one more time, and made sure he had the key for the front desk. Patting his pocket, he heard something rustle, and he pulled out Edward's note. Frowning, he looked it over and shook his head again at Edward's childish handwriting. Some things, he told himself, will never change.

It was a comforting thought.

 

 

 

"Carriage?" Roy gave Havoc a surprised look, and Havoc stepped away from the automobile with a wide grin. "I thought—"

"No, sir," Havoc said. "Apparently Elric arranged transportation for us."

Roy eyed the vehicle suspiciously. "Did you—"

"Checked it over already," Havoc said, opening the door for Roy. "I'm pretty sure it won't blow up, or fall apart. Apparently he told someone he wanted to see the countryside, and they said he could use the car. Found the note and keys in my room when I came back after lunch."

"And you just now decided to tell me about it?" Roy got in, settling himself and crossing his arms, watching as Havoc circled the car to get in behind the wheel. "This seems to be turning into a habit," he added, under his breath.

"Elric's request, sir," Havoc said, putting one arm over the seats, turning to give Roy a grin. "He thought you'd take it better if it were a surprise."

An Elric peace offering. Havoc's grin got wider, and he started up the car with a soft chuckle. Ten minutes later, they had left Hyle behind, and were on the main road heading for Soswell.

Roy stared out the window, watching the forest get thicker as the road climbed into the mountains, and pondered the evening before. Edward had finished off his hot chocolate quite quickly, seeming to enjoy it, and Roy didn't want to break the mood by pointing out that hot chocolate was a combination of cocoa powder, sugar, and the dreaded milk. He'd read through his notes and the paperwork at least twice, before realizing that Edward had fallen asleep on the other end of the sofa, sprawled out with his head against the back, one leg over the arm, and the other leg stretched out onto the floor. Roy had stared for a long time, seeing the utter relaxation of sleep, and the slack-jawed pleasure Edward seemed to get from his dreams.

He had wondered what he looked like when he slept. Hughes had once teased Roy, in their academy days, that he frowned even while sleeping. Roy frowned at the recollection. Idly he put a finger to his forehead, feeling the ridge of muscle, the line etched between his brows. He could see faint traces of the same line in Edward's forehead, and it made him sad, rather than amused. He had stood, as quietly as possible, planning to return with a blanket, for no reason that he could comprehend. It was simply, suddenly, that he felt like doing so.

When he'd returned, not more than five minutes later, Edward was gone, as were his boots and his coat. Roy had made a point of shrugging to the empty room, as though eyes were still watching him. He had carried the spare blanket back to his room, and gone to bed.

He had been, and still was, discomforted by his uncharacteristic behavior, after years of managing the subtle balance between himself and the Elric brothers. It was a balance based on caring for Edward, and by extension Alphonse, but never breaking it with words. Roy had stared at the blank ceiling of the officers' quarters, and the shadows moving from the trees outside the window, and snorted at the game in mild exasperation. He'd cared; he'd always cared, and everyone around him knew it. Alphonse knew it, certainly, and perhaps Edward, but it was an unspoken rule of engagement that such should never be admitted. He'd worked from the start to make sure Edward didn't see him as a hero, or a savior, helping Edward along in his journey. No, Roy had decided eight years ago that better Edward fight his own battles, and believe them to be his own victories.

And now he was changing the rules. Roy stared out the car window, wrapping his arms tighter around him despite the heater going full blast in the front seat. Or perhaps the rules were changing around him, instead; he wondered if his impulses were simply recognition of the truth. Edward was no longer that wide-eyed boy in the Central train station, breathless and shocked from the sight of Roy blistering a criminal into a smoking hulk of flesh. He was a National Alchemist with abilities and powers in his own right, and a brilliant one at that, with a mercurial mind that often left Roy breathless in return.

Not that Roy would ever admit it. He ducked his chin to smile into his collar. Another unspoken rule of the game, he knew.

Havoc was humming something under his breath, a tuneless kind of whisper in the front seat. Roy let his mind wander back to the question of a National Alchemist who seemingly disappears for two months, and then reappears with no questions asked. The loss of paperwork, for two months, was unlikely. Such paperwork would have been bundled, and one sheet slipping from the stack and being lost was a truly rare occurrence. When it did happen, it was usually accompanied by the loss of other paperwork as well.

"General," Havoc said, breaking Roy from his thoughts. "Looks like we may have company."

"Wha—oh." Roy looked up to see a carriage ahead of them, on the side of the road. The harnesses were empty, the horse team gone, and the only movement was a red cloth draped over the side of the carriage. Havoc pulled the car up alongside, and the red cloth resolved itself into the hem of Edward's coat. Edward was laying on top of the carriage, one leg up, the other leg swinging idly off the side. Havoc stopped the car, and got out. After a grunt of exasperation, Roy followed.

"Fullmetal," Roy called up to the carriage. "When you've done celebrating that for once you're taller than everything around you, I'd like to hear an explanation of just what you did this time."

"You calling me short?" Edward hopped to his feet, and stared down at Roy, glowering. His brows were lowered, but his grin looked more exultant than annoyed, despite the fact that he was waving one fist dramatically as he shouted. "Who's so _short_ he could stand _under_ the carriage and not get _hit_ when it goes right _over_ him!"

Roy raised his eyebrows and waited. Edward glowered for a few seconds longer before throwing down his suitcase and clambering off the top of the carriage. Edward jumped down from the ladder, and brushed himself off before crossing his arms, bracing his feet as he glared at Roy.

"Wheel came off," Edward said, as if that explained everything. "Axle broke."

"Looks fine to me," Roy replied.

"I fixed it," Edward retorted. "But the horses got spooked, and they took off. Driver went after them."

Roy frowned, and Edward took it the wrong way, of course.

"I am not a Horse-chasing Alchemist!"

"No," Roy demurred, the spark reappearing as the taunt came to his lips. It was almost...enjoyable, his mind supplied, to find the energy to jab Edward as he once had. "But you're the perfect size to be one of those little lawn jockeys..."

Oddly, Edward looked like he was somewhere between exploding in fury and grinning manically. "But _you're_ the original model, General," and he put a hand on his waist, twisting his body so his hip jutted out. He tossed the other hand up in front of his nose, pinky out as though holding an invisible cup of tea, and tilted his head backwards, nose in the air. He gave Roy a sly look from under his eyelashes, then grinned outright.

Havoc coughed, and Roy closed his mouth on his retort. Instead, he settled for arching an eyebrow. Edward relaxed with a sharp grin. Score one for me, the look said, and Roy almost rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

"Well, boss, you want a ride, then?" Havoc opened the back door of the car. Edward grunted, giving Roy a satisfied look, before picking up his suitcase and throwing it over the seat into the trunk. Havoc beckoned to Roy, who sighed and got in after Edward.

Within minutes, they'd passed the driver leading the four horses. Edward waved, but he didn't ask to get out, and neither Havoc nor Roy suggested it. Soon the winter shadows under the trees lengthened into late afternoon. A soft purring sound came from the other side of the back seat, and Roy looked over to see Edward curled up, twisted so his feet were almost at Roy's thigh. Edward's head was on his knees, and he seemed to be drowsing. Strands of gold hair lay across his face, fluttering softly with every breath.

That couldn't be comfortable. A thin line between Edward's brows appeared and faded, and Roy wondered what preoccupied the young man. He pushed the curiosity from his mind, and turned to stare out the window. There was something still bothering him about the entire assignment, and daydreaming would just have to wait until he'd figured it out.

 

 

 

Roy flipped the suitcase open on the bed and glared at the neatly folded garments. Setting aside his change of uniform and making a mental note to find out if there were a laundry in Soswell, he changed quickly into his off-duty khakis.

There were no officer's barracks in Soswell; instead, he and Havoc had been put up at Whitmere's residence, which consisted of the top two floors over the military headquarters. The guest rooms were on the top floor, five stories above the twisting alleys that passed for streets in Soswell. The town sat halfway up the mountain, and the narrow streets and tall buildings made it feel like everything had been piled up on top of what came before, tilted and leaning. Roy stretched, noting the overstuffed chair by the fireplace, the decadent bedding, and the heavy drapery for shutting out winter draughts. Definitely more than he was used to, and he had to grin at that.

He was too military, if draperies made him uneasy.

He dug his notepad and a pen out from his suitcase, and went in search of the small sitting area the First Lieutenant had mentioned. Edward had, once again, disappeared as soon as they'd arrived in Soswell, leaving Roy and Havoc and deal with First Lieutenant Tartleton, the town's administrator. The man had been utterly useless, but yammered on for nearly two hours about the most inconsequential things. The only knowledge of any value from the entire exhausting process was that the Cragrock Alchemist was recovering from her last mining project and wouldn't be available until the next day. The other important piece was that the phone lines were down, and had been for three months. Apparently the First Lieutenant—and most of the town—thought nothing of the two-hour car ride, or five-hour carriage ride, just to make a single phone call from Hyle.

Stupid trees, and that made him think of the desert. Better a mile of trees than ten miles of sand. But still, even just one month should be plenty of time to deal with a fallen tree and fix the lines. He pushed open the door to the guest lounge.

He was unsurprised to see Edward sitting with his back to the arm of the sofa, his legs stretched out, boots in disarray on the carpet. He was reading another newspaper, and lowered it long enough to glare at Roy before raising it again. Fortunately there was a second sofa, facing the first, its high back to the door. Roy shrugged at the raised newspaper, moving to sit opposite Edward. He crossed his legs and uncapped his pen, doodling a bit on the paper as he let his thoughts fall into some sort of pattern.

The windows rattled with the wind, and Roy glanced at the fireplace, considering lighting a fire. He decided against it, not feeling the chill quite yet. There were two side chairs, that looked like dining chairs pressed into service as spare seating; a white knitted throw lay decoratively across the seat of one of the chairs. A number of pictures of former administrators hung on the walls, most of them in uniform, ceremonial swords polished to a glow and displayed proudly. Roy dropped his gaze, uninterested in the generic decorating style that seemed to pervade every officers' lounge.

When the clock struck eight, Roy realized he had yet to write anything down, mostly preoccupied with trying to read the headlines on the newspapers Edward was reading. Edward seemed to be looking for something, and would read each quickly, then drop it with a disgusted snort, lean over the arm of the sofa, and drag out another day's paper. By Roy's count, Edward was on his sixteenth newspaper, and Roy set the notepad and pen down on the low table between the sofas. He was hungry, and the First Lieutenant had mentioned the headquarters' cook would be available in the kitchen.

I'll be back in a few, he wanted to say, but didn't. He halted at the door, and considered saying it anyway, but a glance over his shoulder told him Edward was still busily turning the pages. Roy shook his head, and went in search of the kitchen.

He found it, ten minutes later, and the lone worker smiled politely and took his order for a simple roast beef sandwich and a cup of tea, with cream. The man was just turning away, to make the order, when Roy called him back, and added a second sandwich to his request, and changed the tea to a carafe of hot chocolate.

"Oh," the man said, scratching his head. "Two sandwiches? Sorry, General, I thought you were alone upstairs."

Roy was about to explain, but his instincts made him stop. "I'm going to be up late," he said with an easy smile. "Better to get enough for now and a snack later, than interrupt myself to come back."

"Yes, sir," the cook replied, and ten minutes later Roy had a tray with two good-sized sandwiches on one plate and enough hot chocolate to drown Edward, if he chose. Roy snagged a second mug while the cook wasn't looking.

When he pushed open the door to the lounge, Edward lowered the newspaper with a snapping sound.

"Mustang, you're the laziest—" Edward's eyes went wide, then narrowed. "Not polite to eat in front of other people," he grumbled, and raised the newspaper again.

"Mm," Roy said, setting the tray down on the table. He poured one cup of hot chocolate and set it down by his notepad. Then he poured a second cup, and set it over on Edward's side of the table. Picking up one of the sandwiches, he leaned back, crossed his legs, and began scribbling his thoughts on the notepad.

He didn't have to wait long. The newspaper rustled, and Edward sniffed, quietly, then the newspaper rustled again. Roy purposefully kept his eyes glued to the notepad, writing out a list of the people he'd met, their positions, and general attitude. In the corner of his eye, though, he could see an automail hand sneak out from behind the newspaper, grope for the mug, and then retract, taking the mug with it. There was the sound of quiet slurping, then silence. Roy took a bite from his sandwich and chewed noisily, finishing it off with the realization that he'd been much hungrier than he'd expected.

Slouching further down on the sofa, he propped the notepad up on his knee, as if blocking his vision. The newspaper pages were flipped a few more times, and the empty mug reappeared on the table. A few minutes later, the hand snaked out again and stole the second sandwich, and Roy had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

Rules of the game, he told himself.

Soon, Roy could hear munching, punctuated by satisfied humming. Taking advantage of the covering noise, he leaned forward and poured another cup of hot chocolate into Edward's mug, then sat back and sipped his own. He stared down at his notes, drawing lines and squiggles between the names as he pondered the question of why the Generalissimo's assistant had told him to continue his investigation, even though Hogan was reportedly in Youswell. If she had been purposefully absent without leave, a military investigator should be tracking her down, not a Brigadier General in charge of Alchemists—and certainly not a Brigadier General who was not even her commanding officer. If, however, it was a foul-up in the paperwork, an administrative investigator should be dispatched to Soswell to review their processes.

Reason enough to be especially on guard. His original assignment—to find the Alchemist—was nothing unusual, and the best officer would have gone, regardless of whether he or she was the Alchemist's direct commanding officer. But the complications of—

Roy felt that prickle on the back of his neck. Edward had lowered the newspaper and was watching him carefully. Roy glanced up, raising his eyebrows but saying nothing.

"Two months of newspapers," Edward said, and twisted to drop the most recent newspaper back on the stack, by the sofa legs. "And there's not a single comment about Alchemists. Not at all like in Hyle. There's plenty of advertisements about sports league games against Youswell, and upcoming projects. There's not even a mention of that rock alchemist—"

"Cragrock," Roy murmured.

"Yeah." Edward leaned back, stretching broadly, his hands in fists. He yawned dramatically and got up, coming over to seat himself next to Roy, looking curiously at the notepad in Roy's hands. "What are you writing?"

Roy frowned, and was tempted to swat Edward on the nose with the notepad. He vetoed that idea, and leaned forward for his mug, unsurprised when Edward scowled and pointed at his own. Roy set down his mug, retrieved Edward's and gave it to him. Then Roy picked up his own again, sipping cautiously. He made a face; it had cooled, but it was still drinkable.

"I'm just reviewing the information," Roy said. "Trying to look at it from a different angle."

"Don't think you'll find out much from her," Edward said, pointing to the name on the sheet: Cragrock Alchemist. Edward yawned again, and rubbed one eye with the heel of his left hand. "She's cool, but she doesn't know anything about the other Alchemist."

Roy was startled. "I was told she's recuperating."

"Oh, she is." Edward shrugged, and gave Roy a wily grin. "But she still answers the door when you knock." He slurped his hot chocolate, and made a face. "This really isn't as good as the stuff in Hyle."

"I'll be sure to tell the cook," Roy replied, dryly.

Edward sniffed and finished off the last of his second cup, setting it on the table. "Had a nice visit with Yasika. She's like...eighty! And only..." He waved one hand, vaguely, in the direction of the table, and Roy blinked, not sure what Edward meant. "She's... _short_ ," Edward explained, and Roy nearly snorted his hot chocolate through his nose. When Edward glared, Roy schooled his face into a suitably patronizing expression.

"Fine," Edward said, throwing himself against the back of the sofa with a huff. "See if I help you."

"Mm." Roy tapped on the paper, next to Hogan's name. "An alchemist who specializes in mechanical properties would be of huge value to a mining operation. I would think any late arrival on her part would have spurred a huge search."

"Yeah, unless someone else wants those skills more," Edward pointed out, his crankiness gone. He slouched down further, resting his head against the back of the sofa, his eyes closed. "Who else would give a damn about someone who can make little machines and cogs and wheels..." His voice trailed off, and he was quiet, then shook himself, sitting up. He glowered at Roy, as if daring him to say something.

Roy had to. "You've been sleeping a great deal."

"Always do, on trains, cars..." Edward looked confused, and ran a hand through his bangs. "Now's when I'm awake." He yawned widely.

"I can see that."

Edward muttered something rude under his breath and tapped his finger on Roy's notepad. "I bet she likes wrenches, too."

"Possibly," Roy agreed, his mind going back to Edward's earlier comment. "Who else would want a Mechanical Alchemist? Especially since she was—" Something bumped him in the shoulder, and he absently elbowed Edward back, then blinked when he was bumped again. He looked at his shoulder, and got a mouthful of golden hair. Sputtering slightly, Roy wiped at his mouth with his hand and leaned over, surprised to see Edward was asleep. He twisted, grimacing as Edward swayed, and cautiously put his left hand on Edward's automail shoulder, shaking gently.

"Fullmetal..." Roy paused when Edward didn't responds, and tried again. "Elric..."

"Edward," came the soft response, interrupted by a huge yawn and a sigh. "My name...not at work..."

"You _are_ at work," Roy replied, wryly. "We were discussing work, at least, so technically..." He watched, somewhere between shocked and amused, when Edward growled softly, a light scowl crossing his face, his eyes still closed. A second later, Edward fell forward, his braid whipping behind him from the speed of the move. Roy just managed to catch Edward from doing a face-plant into his kneecap, and hauled the young man back upright. Edward mumbled something inaudible and tilted sideways into Roy again, swatting at Roy's hand on his shoulder.

Exasperated, Roy tossed his notepad onto the table. If Edward were going to crash wherever he liked, Roy decided, then Roy would just use the other sofa. Roy had no sooner decided on the course of action, than he'd also realized Edward's head was now in his lap.

Roy froze.

Edward, however, poked Roy's thigh a few times without opening his eyes, and muttered something that sounded like 'Alphonse.' Edward's feet were still on the carpet, his legs half-off the sofa, and he raised one leg, kicked it a few times, and missed the edge of the sofa. The foot fell with a thump back to the carpet, Edward sighed deeply, and began making the odd purring snore Roy had heard from him on the way to Soswell. Roy realized he was completely tensed, his arms raised over his head as if in surrender. He lowered his hands, feeling immensely awkward. Frowning, he patted Edward, and then shook him.

One part of his brain was mildly relieved that Edward's automail shoulder was not the shoulder pressed against Roy's thigh. A smaller but noisier part was cackling madly at the fact that the Fullmetal Alchemist purred in his sleep.

"One more time," Roy muttered, grunting as he tried to lift Edward up so Roy could ease out from under. The automail hand resting on his knee was attached to a sleeping body with other ideas, and Roy nearly yelped as the hand tightened, pinching the skin through his khakis.

"Al, hold still," Edward grumbled, wriggling to get comfortable, seemingly unaware of Roy staring down at him, wide-eyed. Edward said something else that sounded like, 'wake me when we get there,' followed it with a few smacking sounds, and gradually fell still.

Roy sighed, feeling highly put-upon. He snorted again, looking down at Edward's slack face, several strands of hair drifting back and forth across Ed's nose, which twitched in response. Roy stared at his notepad, on the coffee table, and started to lean forward. The motion pushed his chest against Edward's head, however, and Edward growled in his sleep. Roy sat back quickly, not sure he'd want to test what Edward might do, half-asleep, if he felt threatened. It wasn't like Roy could just take away Edward's chalk, and prevent an explosive array so simply.

Roy stared at his notepad, and realized his arms were up again. He started to cross them, but that meant he was inadvertently using Edward's cheek as an elbow rest. Roy frowned and uncrossed his arms, placing one across the back of the sofa, and the other along the armrest. It wasn't his normal position, but Edward murmured something and stretched a little. Roy glowered at the room, and pondered the fact that normally Edward seemed to fall asleep and pop right back up again, wide-awake, as though a switch were being flipped.

Some part of Roy was almost pleased with the idea he might have reached the same category as Alphonse. It was rather flattering in a way, given that he wasn't sure he could say he had ever allowed anyone else such trust, except perhaps Hughes, once... Roy sighed, pushing away the memories of passing out after drinking all night with Hughes, and waking up with Hughes' foot as his pillow. The rest of Hughes had mysteriously ended up on the floor beside the sofa, rather than on it like he'd been as they matched each other's shots in adolescent competition. Roy smiled at the recollection and leaned his head against the back of the sofa, shifting gradually until he was comfortable. Edward shifted as well, rolling over and pulling his legs onto the sofa as he pressed his nose against Roy's hip. His automail shoulder, flush against Roy's thigh, wasn't nearly as unyielding as Roy had expected.

Roy could only stare down at the sleeping man, and shake his head in dismay. He whispered a prayer to any god listening: don't let Havoc stop by. This is not a suitable position for an officer and... Roy frowned, staring down at Edward's hair, glimmering in the lamplight, the braid on Roy's thigh a dull gold in the yellowed glow. I'm not technically his commanding officer any more, he reminded himself. For all intents and purposes, we're equals on this trip, since we're both answering to Generalissimo Thayer.

At least he still outranked Edward. Roy's eyes slowly closed.

His eyes snapped open, and he twisted his head to see the time. Only fifteen minutes had passed, but the room had grown chilly. Roy yawned and grumbled under his breath. He'd seen an afghan on one of the chairs, and he yawned again, then grinned when he spotted it on the nearest side chair. Roy leaned forward, and heard another growl. A hand under Edward's head, lifting the young man up, got the same response, along with a few curses and a drawn-out, "Stop tha..."

Roy angled himself, sinking down a little on the sofa, and stretched one leg out. He grinned triumphantly when he managed to hook the leg of the chair, dragging it towards him across the carpet. Twisting carefully, he snagged the afghan with one hand, and pulled it off the chair. Holding it up, he studied Edward for a second, and decided if Edward would sleep where he liked, then he'd have to deal with being completely under the afghan. With that thought, Roy snapped the afghan open, letting it unfurl across them. His eyes were half-closed, and his hand moved by feel alone, automatically tucking the blanket in behind Edward so his back wasn't exposed to the chilly night air. Then Roy leaned back, pulling the blanket up under his chin, and fell into sleep as well.

 

 

 

"One more time," Roy insisted, childishly stomping his foot. "And then I'll come in, I pro—"

The dream disappeared with a sudden whoosh louder than any dream had the right to be. Roy opened his eyes, and wondered when the light had gone out, before he realized the room was lit only by the fireplace's glow. There was a weight across his stomach. A hand was tucked against the small of his back, between Roy's body and the sofa cushion. Roy's right hand was resting on someone's shoulder, and Roy blinked, feeling his eyes sting. He coughed, slightly, and pulled the afghan off with his left hand, gasping when the air wasn't much cooler with the afghan gone. He could hear the crackling fire, and wondered if Havoc were truly so sadistic as to not wake him and offer help to pry Edward off him. The heat from the fireplace was overwhelming; Roy wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

He rubbed his eyes again, and shook Edward with his right hand, but the young man didn't respond. Roy rolled his eyes, struggling to wake up through the haze of sleep and lingering dreams. Then he realized something that made his blood run cold despite the warmth in the room.

There was no fire in the fireplace.

Sitting upright, ignoring Edward's startled sleepy grunt, Roy twisted on the sofa. Dread filled him as he looked over his shoulder towards the door. The door was solid flame. Fire was licking up the plaster walls, eating at the molding along the ceiling.

They were trapped.


	5. torn

_The apple tree never asks the beech how he shall grow;_  
_nor the lion, the horse, how he shall take his prey._  
—William Blake, Proverbs of Hell

 

 

 

Roy moved without thought. He shook Edward violently without looking down, gaze fixed on tracking on the fire's path towards the ceiling, already obscured by roiling gray smoke. No response from Edward, and the lamp by the door exploded. Oil sparked into flame and the liquid arced downwards to splatter across the rug. No leverage to throw Edward over his shoulder, so Roy took the second-best option. He pulled the blanket-wrapped figure into his arms, shoved himself upright, and dashed from the sofa to the far wall by the window.

At the window he dropped to his knees, pulling the blanket over Edward's face again. Roy yanked hard on the curtains. The drapes fell over them both, the brass curtain rod clattering on the wood floor.

Five floors. Roy cursed under his breath. If Edward were awake, his alchemy would make escape a simple procedure, out the window and straight down the side of the building. But Edward was completely unconscious. The hot chocolate must've been drugged. Roy's own mind felt fuzzy, his reflexes dampened. With Edward still in his arms, Roy dragged the drapes over them both.

One piece of chalk—the alchemist's constant companion. Roy steadied his fingers, trying to stifle his coughs at the thickening smoke. His hand paused on the plaster; he had to think back to his earliest studies to remember the inversion. One stroke, wiped off with the heel of his hand. A second attempt: the triangle shifted thirty-degrees. Stroke and circle. Symbol and pattern.

Roy spared a glance for the fire's progress. No way to warn Edward, if he hadn't woken yet—but he would react when the array was activated. The body needed no awake mind to defend itself. Roy tucked Edward's head under his chin, one arm tight around Edward to pin him in place.

Then Roy took a deep breath and slammed his left hand down on the array.

Light flared out, blue stripping to green and crackling at the edges. Roy gritted his teeth, watching from under the heavy drapes. The light poured through the room, green snapping against the red flames. The green continued to grow, flooding out the red. Roy's vision swum, but he kept his hand on the array, feeding it. Edward made a choking sound. The fire was hedging backwards, beaten and starved by the alchemical reaction. Edward gasped, body flailing. Roy tightened his hold as Edward threw his head back; eyes closed, lips turning blue. Edward's body thrashed, each movement pushing them away from the wall. Roy's hand being pried was being from the array as Edward's body shook in his arms, convulsively fighting for air.

Only Roy's fingertips remained against the chalk lines, but he kept his grip on Edward. The crackling fire was fading; perhaps the blood pounding in his ears was too loud. Roy swayed, and dug his fingertips into the plaster. Edward's struggles were growing weaker.

It took a heartbeat for Roy to realize the pounding was not his blood. Or perhaps the pounding at the door was in time with his heart, hammering to be free of his ribcage. He could see the flares of sparks, last smoldering moments of fire. Only another minute more, his teacher's voice whispered in his ear. He forced away the knowledge that Edward had gone limp in his arms. He forced away the dark room, the fading sounds. He couldn't yell, without air. He couldn't warn, without oxygen in his lungs. He couldn't take his hand from the array, for fear that—

The door burst open, flooding the room with oxygen.

Roy's entire world exploded.

 

 

 

Movement; his body was raised, carried. Crackling and pouring; someone was shouting in the background. Fireworks of hot-white danced in the inside of his eyelids. Roy couldn't sense Edward against him, and he floundered, sensing the flames were close. He needed to—

But he couldn't speak, only cough. The world was spinning, twirling in the darkness of his eyelids. A hand pressed itself into his jaw, the fingers tightening cruelly, prising his mouth open. Bitter liquid ran down his throat, and Roy coughed. He tried to spit it out, but fingers were holding his jaw shut. Fingertips against his lips, pressing. Roy choked, the liquid searing as he swallowed.

Then everything faded again.

 

 

 

 _Damn_ was the first comprehensible thought he could manage. It was soon followed by a flurry of cuss words. The blaze in his body grew as he struggled to wake, and the shattering pain pushed everything else out of his mind. Roy lay still, cataloging the sensation, bringing the ache to his breast, and cradling it close as an old friend. Significant burns on his left hand, he knew, perhaps some minor nerve damage, but not too deep. He tensed and relaxed the muscles throughout his body. Legs: fine. Lower back, mild pain. Right hand: fine. Right upper arm: significant pain.

Full sensation came crashing back, forcing Roy to bite down on a scream as he crawled into consciousness. He lay on his stomach, on a lumpy cot barely wider than his shoulders. His shirt was gone, and his feet were bare. The pillow under his cheek was scratchy. His left hand was stretched outward, supported on a hard surface. Roy opened his eyes slowly, uncertain, to see a dark figure leaning over him, holding something bright. His arm rested on the seat of a wooden stool. Roy blinked and the brightness became white bandages, glowing in lamplight. He groaned as pressure came to bear on the back of his left hand.

"You're awake," the figure said. It was a light tenor in that middle range that could be a low-voiced woman's, or a younger man, with an accent not unlike Edward's. The figure prodded Roy's right shoulder. A shot of pain stabbed down Roy's spine, and he automatically flinched at the touch. "Beam fell on you," the figure said, in a conversational tone. "Amazed we got you out of there."

"Where..." Roy coughed. Smoke in the lungs; perhaps mild burns on his vocal cords. Something metallic rattled in the room, and it took Roy a minute to realize that the sound wasn't his death rattle. The smell of burning wool and wood was trapped in his nostrils, and he shoved the memories away. Now was not the time. He swallowed hard, and tried again. "Where..." He couldn't manage more.

"In a room, on a bed," the figure said.

Great. A damn comedian playing at nursemaid. The person ran another layer of bandage across his palm and over his knuckles. Roy grimaced. A nursemaid, he amended, with a bedside manner that rivaled Roy's own. He imagined he could hear Hughes in the back of his mind, laughing softly.

"I'm Erin," the person told Roy. "I'm the one who takes care of the folks...here."

Roy grimaced. Still no clue as to what kind of charm it'd take. Roy let his eyes slide half-closed; they were still tearing from the remembered sting of smoke and heat.

"You have some injuries, but I've taken care of the rest," Erin continued, and Roy gasped inadvertently as Erin tied off the bandage. "Shouldn't be too many scars. Not like it's a worry, but with a face like yours?" The figure chuckled.

"Edward," Roy choked out.

"The kid?" Erin shrugged. "He's fine. Mostly. Some smoke inhalation, and a nasty blow to the head from the same beam that got you in the arm. You might get food later, but I doubt it'll go down your throat. There's water over on the table." Erin leaned over Roy, prodding the bandage on his shoulder again, and Roy caught a glimpse of overalls, and a flat chest.

Different charm required, then. Before he could manage words against the pain lancing from his shoulder, the figure was gone. There was soft tapping, followed by a creak and a whoosh of wood scraping over wood, then a click as a lock fell into place. Roy blinked, and craned his neck to see the door, despite the throbbing pain. Grunting, he cautiously levered himself upright.

"What the hell are you moving for?" Edward's voice was hoarse, and annoyed. "You're wearing at least two shirts' worth of bandages, if you didn't notice."

Roy twisted towards the voice, but was halted immediately when the burn on his shoulder protested. He set his jaw and turned his entire body, shivering as the cool air hit his chest. In the low light, he could see his pants were black with smoke and grime, but intact. There was a bandage around his midriff, and another on his right arm and over his shoulder. He took another slow breath before turning the rest of the way. What he saw made him want to drag Erin back into the room and demand answers.

Edward was sitting against the wall, his knees up in front of him. His arms were stretched out, a long bar cuffed to each wrist. It kept his hands more than shoulder-width apart, and he had situated himself so the bar rested on his shin. Chains led from the cuffs to the wall. Edward noticed Roy's gaze, and shrugged.

Furious, Roy clenched his fists, struggling to stifle the urge to fry someone, anyone, for the indignity Edward was suffering. The problem was that Edward was awake, which meant being protective was out of the question. Roy kept his expression impassive, hiding his amusement at his reaction.

"At least they didn't take my arm off," Edward was observing. "Hate reattaching automail." He said it in a light tone, and scuffed at the floor with a foot. "Before you ask," and he coughed a few times, then grinned, "no, I don't know. I just woke up, myself."

Roy carefully stood. The small of his back, his shoulder, his arm, his hand: each point seemed to throb angrily with every bend of the knee, shift of weight, twitch of his skin against the bandages. It took everything he had to walk smoothly and steadily towards the table, reach down, and pour a cup of water. He took measured sips while he studied their surroundings.

The room was small, lit mostly by the lamp on the table. One window, high above Roy's head, was covered with a thick drape. A few beams of light snuck past the edges, serving only to heighten the gloom. The single door looked solid, with no cross beams visible, and no door handle. Presumably someone was on the other side, prepared to open it. Roy doubted it would be opened if he knocked.

The water was warm, but he didn't care. With his left hand hanging uselessly at his side, Roy refilled the cup. He had to catch his breath against the splintering feeling of burnt nerves, then he carried the cup to Edward. Gingerly he knelt down and held it out.

"Sorry, General." Edward moved a hand, and the chains rattled against the floor. "Thanks for the offer but—"

"Shut up, Fullmetal," Roy growled, and raised the cup. His knuckles touched Edward's chin.

Edward recoiled, his eyes shutting tight for a bare heartbeat. Roy held still until Edward warily opened his mouth. Roy filed the moment away, and tilted the cup against Edward's lower lip. Edward's mouth opened further, letting the liquid slide in. Edward's throat worked, swallowing as much as possible. Roy tilted the glass further, trying to gauge the angle. When water started pouring from the corners of Edward's mouth, Roy backed off.

"First you try to burn me up, and now you're trying to drown me?" Edward twisted, wiping his mouth against his shoulder, and glared.

Roy merely arched an eyebrow. "More?"

Edward grunted, eyeing the cup. His brows came down, and Roy could see the barest nod of Edward's chin, followed by a glitter of eyes under lowered lids. The look clearly said that if Roy ever spoke of the situation, Edward would take it out of Roy's pension, book collection, and probably a few body parts. Roy's amusement gave way to a small tendril of worry, and he lowered the cup when Edward frowned over the top of it.

"Enough?" Roy studied the reflection of water inside the cup. Half-empty. Or half-full. Did it matter, anyway.

"Yeah." Edward wiped his mouth against his black jacket. A garish bruise marked Edward's forehead, dappled with the earliest hints of blistering. It wasn't bandaged, and Roy frowned. Edward caught Roy's look, and gave him a baffled expression. "What? Stop staring at me."

"Just noting the damage." Roy finished off the rest of the water, and backed up until he was seated again on the small cot. "Bruise doesn't look good."

"Doesn't feel good, either. Got a headache the size of Central's train station." Edward jiggled his hands, and glowered at the bar. "I can't reach anything, damn it." He twisted, demonstrating. When one hand neared the wall, the chain on the other hand was taut, and he couldn't do more than press his fingertips against the stone. He couldn't lower his hands to the floor, either, and relaxed his arms with a frustrated sigh. "Looks like someone planned ahead."

"So it appears. No other injuries?"

"Uh...don't think so." Edward grunted, and the chains rattled as he shifted. "Gimme that pillow. My ass is falling asleep."

"Knew you were getting spoiled with Kavanaugh. You want me to slide it under you, too?"

Edward bared his teeth and muttered something under his breath.

Roy tossed the pillow, doing his best to cover the grimace from the action. "You need help climbing up on it? I can call for a ladder."

"Don't bother." Edward caught the corner of the pillow with one hand. The chains rattled as he moved around, sliding his buttocks up along the wall and kicking at the pillow. He settled down with a soft sigh, then scowled at Roy. "Ladder wouldn't fit in here, anyway. Your ego takes up too much room."

Roy chose to ignore that, along with the strange pleasure creeping into his chest at the return of their jibes. He recalled the way Edward had recoiled from the cup, or perhaps it was his touch. Roy studied the room as he modulated his tone into one of nonchalance. "What do you remember?"

Edward shrugged, and rubbed one boot against the wooden floor. "We were talking about Cragrock...and I remember being really sleepy. And then a lot of heat, but I..." He frowned, turning his face away from Roy's gaze, raising his face to the covered window. A beam of light caught the edge of his face, turning his hair to gold and his lashes to bronze. "...And then I was here."

"Mm." Roy allowed his normal impassive expression to fall into place, but something still tugged at his mind. Edward recalled more than he'd said, and Roy wasn't sure he wanted to know. Rules of the game, he reminded himself: what isn't said can't break the balance.

"I think the hot chocolate was drugged." Edward narrowed his eyes at Roy, as though Roy were somehow responsible.

Roy arched a brow.

"Bastard," Edward mumbled.

Roy relented. "You're probably right. The cook gave it to me. I told him it was all for me, so I presume you weren't part of the plan."

"You were the target?" Edward snorted. "There's a twist."

"How so?" 

"I haven't known you for as many years without eventually figuring it out. Throw me to the wolves, and see what gets stirred up."

"Mixing metaphors, Fullmetal. And yes, I'd say you probably attracted enough attention, both in Hyle and here. Mostly when people tripped over you—"

Edward rattled his chains, his face screwed up in fury, then fell back against the wall with a grunt. One boot kicked at the floor. He twisted his wrists in the shackles before dropping his arms with a disgusted cry. "Damn it! Can't you find something to draw with and get these off me?"

"I'm not going to practice on you," Roy said, annoyed. "My specialty is atmospheric manipulations, not melting steel."

"Oh, sure, give yourself airs. Just melt the damn things!" Edward shook his fists again, but couldn't hide the wince as the iron chafed against his left wrist. There were dark smears on the cuffs of Edward's gloves.

"Fullmetal, stop. All you're doing is injuring yourself."

"Well, at least I'm doing _something_!" Edward lunged forward, but the chains brought him up short. He balanced on the balls of his feet for a second, an awkward crouch, snarling at Roy. "Not just sitting there being all... _comfortable_ , damn it!"

"I am _not_ comfortable," Roy told him, flatly. He ignored the temptation to adopt that arrogant tone Edward hated most. "I'm thinking."

"Well, think faster!"

"Elric," Roy bit out, knowing it would get Edward's attention. "I am not going to torch your cuffs and burn your wrists. I have control, yes, but I'm not a precision instrument. Not to that degree."

Edward was silent, watching him guardedly for several seconds, before turning his face away. That was about as much defeat as Edward would show.

Roy twitched the fingers on his left hand, testing the limits of the pain. "I doubt we have long, now that they know I'm awake."

"Hunh?" Edward looked up at that.

"Seriously, Fullmetal. I shift and control the amount of oxygen, water, and hydrogen molecules in the area around me. I'm of no use to a mining operation...or any other type of factory. Unless they need short, intense bursts of fire, or possibly rain."

"You can make it rain?" Edward seemed to be momentarily distracted.

"It's not that hard." Roy curled the edge of his mouth, a mocking smile. "It's just manipulating something different in the air. But it's a great deal of effort for little payback, and it's not worth the resulting imbalance."

"Hunh. So what's your point?"

"You are." Roy refrained from saying more, not sure he wanted to test the theory. If he was the target, then it was not likely he was being held to be used as a weapon. Fire was too powerful, too quick, and too lethal, if done properly. He closed his eyes, ignoring the after-images, sixteen years past. Altogether too lethal. "You have the ability to shift and change anything and everything around you without the necessity for an array. And you have a particular affinity to steel, I might add."

"Yeah, so?" Edward paused, frowning at some point in the corner of the room. His mouth fell open, a little bit. He glanced quickly at Roy, the surprise becoming a scowl. "You're saying whomever has us wants me to build things?"

"When you met Cragrock, did she have any family with her? Someone who answered the door?"

"Not that I could see. She was alone." Edward rubbed his nose against his shoulder. "This no-use-of-hands crap is getting on my nerves... And now that I think of it, she didn't have any pictures of people on the walls or the mantel, either."

But Victoria Hogan traveled with her husband and daughter. Roy's gut clenched. He was an idiot; he should've seen that. He should've noticed the one who couldn't be found should have been easy to track, if only because it's harder to slip three people in and out, than it is just one. Edward made an irritated sound, and Roy brought his mind back to the surface topic. "A mechanical alchemist," Roy reminded him. "And now, add in someone who can build the cases for those mechanical systems. Or perhaps they no longer have the Mechanical Alchemist—"

"—Or are replacing her." Edward lowered his gaze, and his hands twisted in the cuffs for a moment, before going still. "It's bullshit, Mustang."

In the dim, Roy could just make out the sight of that thin line between Edward's brows, as the young man contemplated the various clues Roy had handed him. He wasn't surprised when Edward suddenly gave him a brilliant smile.

"I'm not going to be doing anything I don't want to do," Edward announced, a bit smug. He leaned his head against the wall, tilting his chin up so he could look down his nose at Roy. "The minute these are off, those assholes are history."

Roy doubted it. Whomever had taken them was more likely assuming that Edward did give a damn about the price paid. Roy wondered if, in this one moment, the rules of the game could be set aside, and the theory spoken. He opened his mouth, noticed Edward watching him closely, and closed his mouth with a quick shake of his head. No. Better to let Edward make his own decision...but nothing wrong with a little help in the right direction.

"What?" Edward stretched his legs out in front of him. It left his arms suspended in front of him, and he made a face before raising his legs again to support the bar. "You've got that _look_ on your face again."

Roy took several minutes to bring himself around to lay down on the cot. A chill seeped into the room; the window's brightness was fading. Sunset, it seemed. Roy groped at the blanket on the bed, pulling it over him with a grunt. The injured shoulder froze up, and he had to breathe through his teeth before he could move again, pulling the blanket over him.

"Don't worry about it, Fullmetal," Roy said, when he was able to speak again. "I'm sure even if you were standing up, it'd all go right over your head."

"Who's so _short_ he needs _stilts_ to see into shop windows?" Edward rattled the bar, his body tensed as he shouted. "You smarmy General, when I get out of these, I'll show—"

"Eh? I hear squeaking." Roy tilted his head, and gave Edward a lazy smile. "Oh, were you saying something?"

Edward's face went from its normal shade to flaming red in about two heartbeats, and his glare turned blistering with the same speed. He shot to his feet, was caught by the chains, and collapsed back down with a yelp.

"I see they did plan ahead," Roy observed. "Four inches off the ground. Just about your size."

"Who's so short you'd need key-chain handcuffs to hold him in place?" Edward threw his head back and screamed, every muscle tensed in fury. "Who're you calling short, you skirt-chasing, lazy-ass, arrogant prick of a goddamn dog of the—"

"Enough already!" The door was open, and a man stood there, his massive size blocking any view past him. He gave Roy, then Edward, a baffled look. "What the hell is going on in here?"

"Undo me! Now!" Edward waved his fists at the man, and his braid whipped around as he flailed against the restraints. "Undo me, damn it!"

The man blinked. "Look, kid, I'm not—"

Edward pointed at Roy, and screamed at the man, "Undo me, so I can punch him in the _face!_ "

"There's a stool over there." Roy managed a vague wave. "Stand on it. You might reach my chest, then."

"GYEEEEEAH!" Edward's shriek was deafening in the small room. His entire body shook with the effort. The chains rattled loud enough to make Roy's teeth hurt, accompanied by more incoherent cries of rage as Edward railed against the shackles.

The man in the doorway looked from Roy, to Edward, and back again, then shrugged. "Well, if you're awake, then separate quarters might be the best, after all." He stepped out of the door, and yelled out to someone. "Hey! Franco! Need some come-along!"

Edward cackled, his attention fixed on Roy. His eyes were narrowed, one tooth caught on his lip. It looked remarkably like a little fang. Edward chuckled low in his throat, and Roy sighed. He'd pushed Edward's buttons just a bit too hard.

The man stepped out, and a second man appeared, even larger than the first. Franco, probably. The man had a gap-toothed smile and eyes too small for his pudgy face, framed in a mass of bristly brown hair. For a big guy, he moved quickly and silently. One hand came down, hitting Edward in the back of his head. Edward's head snapped forward, and he slumped, boneless.

The first man joined them. "No one can do that quite like Franco." He rattled a ring of keys, and undid the bolts attaching the chains to the wall. Edward fell forward, and Roy had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from showing any reaction. Franco grabbed Edward by the scruff of his neck, and Edward moaned softly. Franco just shrugged and threw Edward, still shackled, over his shoulder.

"And here I thought either he was still out of it, or that you were getting along nicely," the man said, eyeing the wooden cup on the floor.

"What are your plans?" Roy stared at the ceiling, seemingly indifferent to the sight of Edward's golden braid flapping against Franco's back as he carried Edward out.

"I might tell you," the man replied, grinning. "If you tell me what's it to you."

"I'm his commanding officer," Roy said. "Have you any idea of the amount of paperwork I'll be stuck with, if he dies on the job?"

"Ah! Good point! But no, you never know. He might like _you_ , even if it's more than you like _him_." He shut the door, leaving Roy alone.

Roy had a strong sense he knew the game those men were playing. Edward needed to stay angry; it might be the only thing that could propel him into leaving Roy behind. Edward could come back and raze the place to the ground, later, but the highest priority was getting Edward out. If the surest means required hating Roy, then Roy would fuel that fire with everything he had. 


	6. honored

_The fox condemns the trap, not himself._  
—William Blake, Proverbs of Hell

 

 

Roy stared up at the ceiling, his ears straining for sounds outside the door. The night was long and cold, a draft seeping in through the small window. It seemed almost ironic that he couldn't reach to the window on his own, given how much he'd teased Edward about being short.

But the truth was that he wasn't up to dragging the table out of the way, and then moving the stool under the window to look. Nor was he able, with his injuries, to climb up on the table. Instead, he contemplated what little he knew of the situation, and catalogued the likely ways and means of the situation.

The most bothersome thing was the absence of his watch. He always carried it, to the point that he never gave it much thought, and it wasn't until he'd noticed the silver chain looped in Edward's pocket—as the young man was carried out the evening before—that it dawned on him that his was missing. Roy had sworn in the darkness, frustrated. Unlike Edward's talent, Roy's watch did amplify beyond what he could normally manage. He wasn't helpless without it, but he certainly didn't have quite the endurance without it that he'd have with it. It had taken nearly an hour of berating himself before he'd given up, and set the complaint aside, turning his mind back to the bigger issue of their kidnapping.

One of the two Alchemists missing had a husband and daughter; the other missing Alchemist was safely in Soswell. There were more who had disappeared in more apparent hotspots, but he couldn't recall the names precisely, nor the locations. Too much of his awareness was taken up with gritting his teeth against the pain of the burns on his shoulder and hand. It seemed reasonable that perhaps the Cragrock Alchemists' arrival had been kept quiet, as well, so that any search would stop at Soswell, with the comfortable excuse of paperwork. Roy grunted at that; he wasn't the kind of person to say without further investigation that both must have been missing only on paper, simply because one was safe and sound. But then, the military was notorious for accepting some pretty half-assed explanations if it got officers out of doing more paperwork.

He grinned into the darkness, wondering how often Hawkeye had thought the same of him.

 

 

 

The opening door heralded the morning, and Roy was instantly awake. He managed to sit up, expecting Erin but surprised to find a young woman, probably no older than Edward. She had chin-length auburn hair that curled neatly behind her ears, and a trim figure despite the bulky militaristic style. Roy caught a glimpse of Franco in the doorway, leering, as the woman brought a tray over to the table, a newspaper under her arm. As she walked back to the door, she dropped the newspaper on the foot of the bed.

"Thought you might like a little to read with your breakfast," the woman said, in a throaty voice that would've given Roy a more pleasant kind of shiver, if he weren't busy sitting up while trying to appear perfectly in control. The quick view of the hallway had given him no more information. The woman saluted him lazily. "Until later, General," she said, turning the salute into a quick wave over her shoulder. Franco pulled the door shut behind her, and Roy was alone in the room.

Grimacing, he reached for the newspaper. It was the Central City military news, morning edition of the day before; the day after the fire. It was only the major news, not the local section. The inside front page had news of various skirmishes, a few political decisions, and the usual pandering to the latest rumormongering. One headline caught his eye, in bold type.

_Soswell fire claims seven._

He skimmed the article, drawing his breath in through his teeth in annoyance. "Due to the high temperature of the fire, the Flame Alchemist was identified through teeth comparison and the discovery of his watch, a badge of his position as a National Alchemist..."

That would explain where his watch went, although he couldn't remember when he might've let it out of his sight. Unfortunately, his memories were patchy at best, and what he could remember, he hoped would eventually fade. Edward's sleepy form, stretched comfortably across the sofa; the jerking, desperate movements of Edward's body as Roy asphyxiated them both, along with the fire; the final, sinking movement of Edward's body, passing out, the golden hair tickling at Roy's nose, the heated skin slick against his jaw. Roy closed his eyes and gathered up the images, locking them away in the secret places in his heart. 

No matter what Edward might ever say, if he learned of Roy's actions, Roy knew he'd do it again, if that were what it took. After eight years, there was no way he'd stand by and let Edward die because of simple arson.

"Six others also died in the conflagration, which destroyed the top floor of the Military Headquarters in Soswell... Including Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist..." Roy dropped the newspaper with a grunt, disgusted by the simple black-and-white reduction of the nightmarish moments. "An investigation continues into the origin of the fire, including an explosion witnesses report blew out most of the top floor of the military headquarters. Five of the victims were caught in this explosion, although no cause has been identified. Inspector Rainey, the fire chief for Soswell, issued a formal statement saying that his staff are looking into it..."

Convenient, Roy thought. The Flame Alchemist, killed by his own affinity. How many would be willing to believe that he would be the cause of his own death? Certainly any ignorant of how alchemy worked; it wasn't like falling asleep in bed with a lit cigarette. He reviewed the article quickly, unsurprised—and frustrated—to see that the rest of the victims weren't named, pending family permission.

First Lieutenant Havoc wasn't listed, but then, if he had been the one pounding on the door, he was definitely not only dead, but incinerated to a point they'd be lucky to find the melted buttons from his uniform. Roy took a minute, clenching his left hand a little, letting the pain remind him of his own situation. He could mourn Havoc, later, he told himself. In the meantime, he'd continue to hope Havoc had been carousing with a pretty local girl, safe from harm. Roy's gaze wandered from the front inside page to the back inside page, and he had to close his eyes again, breathing steadily, before opening them again.

Obituaries.

Roy stared at his own image. Gracia had taken the photograph on the steps of the Officer's Club, the night they had celebrated his promotion to General. He was in uniform, but smiling at the camera, his head tilted as though he were enjoying a secret.

Gracia had called it his tease-face, in the way Hughes might have said, if he'd been alive. Odd the editors had not selected a more formal image, with the hat on his head, rather than tucked under his arm; he would have preferred a photograph where his hair was slicked back formally, instead of his everyday messy style. Idly he glanced at the article.

_Brigadier General Roy Thomas Mustang, died of fire-related injuries in Soswell, at the age of thirty-two._

Roy sighed. Thirty-two years old, and his life fits in five paragraphs.

Graduated with top honors from Central Academy... and neither of his biological parents had lived to see it, though his foster-mother made a point of attending, discreetly, at the back. Served as a National Alchemist during the Ishvar Civil Conflict...and came home to his foster mother's resigned disgust. He'd been unable—and unwilling—to muster the energy to argue, or even explain, not for a long time. Youngest Colonel promoted during peacetime... and even then, he'd chosen to keep his past private, his foster mother busy with another day at her bar, rather than witness to the handshake and congratulations from the new Fuehrer. Roy shook his head at the list, and kept reading, more from morbid curiosity than anything else.

Despite that, the newspaper did list his foster mother's current town of residence, although it politely elided the truth of Roy's various aunts, his mother's long-time bar girls. If it was a hoax, it was a damn fine one, since even the bar girls who'd helped raise him were listed: Melissa, Carina, Aurelia. The final paragraph listed Gracia and Alicia Hughes as close family friends.

Roy dropped the newspaper, belatedly remembering the soup. Wincing at his stiff muscles, he got up, stretching as best he could. His skin felt clammy, and he draped the blanket awkwardly over his shoulders before shuffling to the table and sitting down on the stool. The soup was mostly broth, but he doubted his throat could handle much more until it had recovered better from the smoke inhalation. 

It occurred to him that he had spent the previous several minutes pondering solely one simple thing: the utter frustration of having no way to assure Alphonse that Edward was alive, or assure his foster mother that he was alive, or Gracia and Alicia that they were both alive. It hadn't even occurred to him what his commanding officer might be saying or doing in reaction, or any plans to investigate, or how his staff might be taking the news. And the thought of all those names in his day calendar, of people to see and meet and do: he had yet to spare a single thought for their reaction, let alone wishing he could reassure them. Such a reputation he'd cultivated for years, and when rumors of his death were circulated, the people he worried about were perhaps four of the handful of people that he could honestly say he'd loved.

Of course, if Edward knew he was included on that list, he'd either disappear in disgust or rail at Roy for treating him like a child, as though only children were loved. Roy crossed his legs and leaned his left shoulder against the table, trying to get comfortable. It wasn't possible, but he didn't want to be laying down the next time the door opened. Just a matter of principle, especially considering how big an explosion Edward would create if he ever found out that Roy had protected him, outright.

That would certainly clear the building. Roy's humor faltered. Edward's annoyance and self-righteous indignation wouldn't just clear out the building, but take out most of the mountain and half the town—and bury Roy under all of it. After which, most likely, Edward would dance on the rubble.

There was a part of Roy that ached, just a little, that his assistance was so repugnant that any hint would prompt such a reaction. Roy buried it swiftly, and waited for someone to come back for the bowl. Eventually they would, and while he had no idea what to expect, he hadn't made it this far in life without a few tricks up his sleeve. Most of them involved a smile and quick wit, but playing helpless was charming to some, too. The secret was in knowing which to apply.

 

 

 

They came for him maybe an hour or two later; Roy wasn't sure. It was enough time to have the entire newspaper memorized, but he'd always been a quick study, so that wasn't the best basis for judging. Franco opened the door, ushering in the same young woman from that morning. She made no attempt to cover the fact that she was giving Roy more than the once-over, from his bare feet, to his smoke-stained pants, to his chest, wrapped only in strips of white bandages. When she raised her eyes to his, he kept his expression level, his chin up, and arched one eyebrow, almost imperceptibly. He wasn't surprised to see her eyes narrow, and the corner of her mouth turned up, just a little.

He made a note of the young woman's inclination towards a challenge, rather than someone submissively sweet or fearful. He stayed by the table, folding the newspaper lazily, as though they had come at his convenience, not theirs.

"Stand up, General," the girl said. "Franco's way too eager about his come-along skills."

Roy stood, hands at his sides. It took his entire being to keep from crying out when his right arm was pulled backwards, and he ground his teeth together as pain lanced up his left arm when the wrist was yanked backwards as well. The young woman moved deftly, running coarse ropes around his wrists, binding them efficiently. There was enough movement behind Roy, with the slithering sound of rope on rope, that he was certain her knots were intricate. She didn't seem like the kind to do anything halfway, or only for show. He stiffened despite himself when the rope was thrown around his throat, and he was unexpectedly annoyed that she patted him on his injured shoulder as if in remorse.

"Come on, General, we've got places to be," she whispered, and slipped a blindfold over his eyes.

Roy kept his ears tuned to the sounds around him. A beefy hand landed on Roy's left shoulder. He wasn't pulled, to his surprise, but led quite gently out the door and down the hallway. Franco warned him, in a deep voice, when they reached a flight of stairs, and Roy counted them. Seventeen steps; at least one floor upward. Forty steps down the hallway, through another doorway, and down ten steps.

He kept his chin up, frustrated by the tightness of the blindfold. He couldn't see under the bottom, and it was pressing hard enough against his eyelids to make him see flashes of false light.

"Almost there," Franco said. "A few steps up...careful, General."

Roy grunted, annoyed. His hands were tied behind his back, wrist to elbow, and from there to his neck. What was the point in being careful with him, now? The floor changed under Roy's feet from flagstones to wood. He paced himself, walking slowly enough not to exacerbate his injuries, but he was also paying attention. His feet only felt one seam at a time, which meant the beams were wide, but they were also smooth. One foot nearly slipped out from under him, and he amended ‘smooth' to ‘high gloss.' He tried to remember the architecture of what he'd seen in Soswell, and whether there were any buildings large enough to house the distance he'd traveled.

"Creighton," the girl called.

"Kelly," a man's voice chided, curtly. "Next time, don't take so long. Now, that everyone is here, you'll see I'm not...blowing smoke," Creighton added, with a rough laugh that muted slightly after a moment.

Roy guessed the man had turned away, and was speaking to someone else. Fingers were working at the knot on the blindfold. It was slipped off his face, and Roy bit the inside of his lip to force his eyes from blinking rapidly at the light. Everything swam in his vision, and he let it, hoping that he wasn't swaying as he adjusted to the light. Something bright moved in the corner of his eye; a heartbeat passed before the golden glow became Edward Elric's braid. Roy narrowed his eyes, barely glancing in Edward's direction, focusing on the speaker.

Creighton was a heavy-set man, perhaps a half-head taller than Roy; he was lighting several candles on a long table in the center of the large room. Over their heads, high in the vaulted ceiling, were small transoms that barely let in light. They were caked with grime and dirt, and the sunlight that forced its way through seemed tainted as a result.

"Still not interested." Edward's voice rang out, sounding a little bored, accompanied by a rattling sound. Edward was still bound.

The bar was shackled to wrists spreader wider than shoulder-width. Edward's hands were relaxed, but the fingers on his automail hand twitched; Edward was either irritated or anxious. The cuff of Edward's left glove was stained and torn; Edward must've spent some time worrying at it. A chain hung from Edward's right wrist to the floor, but it wasn't attached to anything. It dragged across the floor as Edward stepped away, shrugging.

"You will be." Creighton turned, his thick black beard obscuring the lower half of his face. He grinned, and the gaping maw showed a few broken teeth. "Call Chervaise."

"Cool." Kelly's light footsteps faded as she left the room.

Roy didn't move or speak, his eyes on Creighton but his senses taking in everything around him. Franco was to Roy's right, not far from Edward, but Edward didn't move or look at either Roy or Franco. Roy forced his shoulders and arms to relax into the bindings. The coarse rope was itching the back of his neck, and it was going to drive him crazy, he was certain, if the fat man and his smug attitude don't do it first. Roy's fingers itched to snap.

Chervaise must have been waiting right outside, because a heavier footstep returned, coming up behind him. A second later Roy's breath was knocked out of his lungs as a foot slammed against the back of his knees. He fell with a thud. He bit his lower lip to keep from crying out as his knees slammed against the wood. The impact reverberated up his body, into his injured shoulder and hand.

Roy raised his chin and got one foot under him. He was halfway to standing when a solid blow hit his right shoulder. He fell again, grunting when the bandages were smashed into the blisters and bruises. Setting his jaw, he spoke over his shoulder. "You could have just asked." 

Creighton shrugged, and the motion caught Roy's gaze. The man was standing by the table, neatly dropping spent matches into a small bowl. The only warning was a whistle, but Roy knew that sound, and instinctively tensed. A second later, a short whip was laid across his shoulders. The pain nearly made the room go white. In the breath of time between the whip disappearing and the second warning whistle as it sliced the air, Roy shifted his weight, bracing. He spread his legs slightly, and brought his ankles a few inches closer together.

The second strike caught him lower on the back, below his bound arms, and he grunted. Roy swallowed hard, and let his breath out slowly. It was no more than running five miles in the pouring rain, or doing another two hundred repetitions past total exhaustion. Two more strikes, and Roy's skin prickled; something wet was running down his back. The realization that Chervaise could hit well enough to draw blood was making it harder to write off the experience as no worse than what he'd faced as a callow youth of seventeen.

Another part of Roy's mind, however, was preoccupied with the room around him. His gaze didn't waver from Creighton, but Roy could see Edward at the edge of his peripheral vision. Edward's body was tensed, his head turned away from Roy, hands fisted. Franco's expression, Roy noted with some bemusement, was worried. Franco kept giving Roy annoyed glances, as though Franco were hoping Roy would lower his head and the entire unpleasant episode could be ended.

Roy filed the observation away in the same breath with which he ignored the seventh strike, this one catching his left arm and his shoulder blade. The real keys were Edward and Creighton. One of the two would call it quits; it was just a matter of which first, and for what reason.

"You guys really need to work on your idea of entertainment," Edward said, subtle hints of anger and worry threading his voice. A stranger might miss that rising note, present only in ‘need' and ‘idea'.

Roy breathed through his mouth, rasping.

"And," Edward continued, "your strategy is transparent. You're assuming I give a damn about him."

"I understand you've been under his command for eight years," Creighton replied. "That's more than enough time to develop some kind of friendship."

"And far more than enough time to know I hate his guts." Edward shrugged casually, but there was no missing the slight hitch in Edward's movement when another hit landed on Roy's lower back.

Roy bit down on his lip harder, refusing to let sound through his throat.

Edward waved a hand, as though dismissing the entire proceeding. "But when the military finds out, they're the ones who will have your ass. Me? I could care less."

"Too bad for him," Creighton said.

Roy blinked as it dawned on him. Edward didn't know. Chervaise's bulk moved away, creaking the floorboards. Roy accepted the breather with a gratitude he struggled to hide. Creighton held up a folded newspaper in front of Edward's face. The chain clattered when Edward reached up to take the paper, his jaw dropping as his eyes scanned the obituary.

" _That_ , boy," Creighton spat, "is one dead General. No one is coming after _him_...or _you_. You, on the other hand, may have checked into little hotels in Hyle and Soswell..." Creighton ripped the newspaper from Edward's hand with a rumbling chortle. "But each time you then made your way to the Officer's Quarters, where you spent the evening with General Mustang. Doesn't sound to me like you really hate his guts, now...does it?"

"Fuck you," Edward ground out. "We had an assignment―"

Creighton flicked his fingers in Roy's direction, and Edward turned, following the gesture. For a moment, Edward's eyes were wide and frightened, the irises glowing bronze in the dirty sunlight and guttering candles. The floor creaked behind Roy, and he took a breath, looking away from Edward's gaze. He wouldn't shame Edward by letting on that he'd seen the momentary weakness, and _that_ , some part of him insisted, was the only reason to push hard at the image, and lock it away. The floor creaked again, the whip cleaved the air, and Roy had no more time to think.

Roy swayed from the lash, but caught himself quickly. The stinging pain was dulling into a sick, wet throb. He nearly chuckled at the fact that the thick rope from his bound wrists to his neck was likely to protect his spinal column. Such consideration seemed out of place, as much as Franco warning him about the steps when he was blindfolded.

Creighton wanted a breakdown. Roy calculated quickly. If Roy chose to play that game, would Edward agree to Creighton's demand, or would he stand firm, and see any begging as so uncharacteristic that it must be a ploy? Between the twelfth and thirteenth strikes, Roy knew a part of him was willing to play along, regardless of Edward's reaction. It would be the only way to find out who was in charge, knowledge they might lose if they managed to get free, too soon.

The next two blows landed across the balls of his feet. No, better not to beg. Not only because it went against every fiber of Roy's being to plead if there was the remote chance of an alternate tactic...but, also, somehow, he didn't want to see Edward's reaction. Roy grinned, knowing the expression was twisted up with bitterness, and mostly at himself. He didn't want to learn that Edward _didn't_ care, almost as much as he didn't want to learn that Edward _did_ care. An untenable position, but his heart wasn't listening, and that almost made him laugh despite the pain.

The fifteenth strike whistled louder than the rest, catching Roy off-guard as the whip lashed against his neck and wrapped around to slice into his cheek. The force threw his head sideways, and he shuddered involuntarily.

The room was silent except for the rattling of chains as Edward shifted his weight from one foot to the next.

Edward's movements halted, and Roy didn't raise his head. He didn't want to see Edward's expression. It would be much easier to play at being defeated, and save the strength to fight later, when the odds were more in their favor. And if he kept going, he _would_  break. He wouldn't give up, but... Another strike, across the bottom of his feet again, and he barely bit back the groan. His body jerked, and he had to take a deep breath. Chervaise chuckled lightly behind him, and Roy noticed Edward's shoulders moving.

"All it takes is one word," Creighton said, in a low rumbling voice. "You, boy," and he stabbed a finger in Edward's direction, "do what we ask. And your superior officer will be spared any more of this."

The whip struck five times, in rapid succession: shoulder, shoulder, lower back, lower back, calves. In the screaming silence of the pain that followed, Roy lost the mental track he'd been planning. The pain shoved everything else out of the way. Roy bit down on his lower lip, panting shallowly as it all became clear. Edward would stay behind, purely out of obligation, and Roy couldn't allow that. But Roy couldn't see past the whip-lines scoring his awareness to determine what to do, to say, to get Edward to realize that.

Edward was the only one who might be able to get out. He could come back for Roy and the other Alchemist, and her family. Edward was the only one who'd be able to manage, Roy knew. He just wasn't sure how to let Edward know, and the only coherent thought he could hold onto for longer than two heartbeats was the simplest of all.

God, it fucking _hurt_.

"Enough," Edward grated. His fists were clenched, and his entire body thrummed with the will holding his temper in check. "You can beat him all day, and it won't change my mind. But if you stop now, I might only flay you, instead of ripping you from limb to limb. It's your last chance, Creighton!"

Chervaise raised the whip again; Roy could see the man's shadow across the wooden floor, in the corner of his vision. The whip came down, the whip-end wrapped around his throat. Roy choked, his body's instinctive jerk throwing him away from the whip's tail, onto his left knee. Chervaise yanked, and Roy's weight came down hard on his right knee. The leather slithered against his throat, releasing. Roy sank down on his calves and leaned forward, coughing.

"Stop it!" Edward raised his hands, the bar stretched between the shackles. Edward's compact body was strained, his feet planted wide, boots braced leading in strong lines to calves and thighs up to a chest curved inwards by the effort. Edward snarled. The right wrist-shackle creaked, and Edward chuckled low in his throat, his lips curling up into a pleased smirk. "When I get out of these, I'll―"

The whip whistled. Roy tensed, but no strike fell. Roy looked up to see Creighton regarding him from only a few feet away, and he made a note that the man could move far more silently and quickly than Roy had guessed. Behind Creighton, Edward's expression was furious, eyes narrowed, teeth bared. Roy lowered his head, breathing through gritted teeth.

"Say please," wheedled Creighton.

"No, thank you," Roy said. To his satisfaction, he even managed to make it sound nonchalant.

Creighton moved away, and Roy closed his eyes, bracing himself for more of Chervaise's attention. His toes curled from a brush of air caressing the cuts across the soles of his feet. Someone was murmuring in the background, and from the pitch, Roy guessed it was Creighton. The sound was broken by a strangled protest—Edward, Roy realized.

Wary, Roy looked up through his bangs, to see Edward's shoulders slump as he nodded. Creighton grinned, clapping Edward on the shoulder, and stepped away. Creighton tucked something back in his pocket.

"I'll do it," Edward whispered.

Roy sighed. One more game, one more person manipulating Edward. Roy added the numbers to the ones already in his head. Twenty-three blows. Roy spared a second's strength to thank the powers that Alphonse was not along on this mission. Seventeen stair-steps. Then again, if Alphonse were, they'd be out of this by now. Forty-three steps on flagstone. Edward would stop at nothing to protect his little brother, but Roy? Ten wooden stair steps... No, Roy was hardly on that list.

"Good," Creighton said.

There was no warning, the sound covered by Edward's chain's clattering as he shook his fists in helpless fury.

The twenty-fourth strike was on Roy's injured shoulder, the whip's tail wrapping around his arm and slicing through the bandages. He fell forward again, unable to hold up his head. The twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth were on the soles of his feet. Roy slowly lifted his head, and regained his even stare on Creighton, though he didn't come back up on his knees. The man nodded to someone behind Roy, and the whip's warning came loud and quick: three strikes in succession. Someone shouted. Roy blinked several times before pulling his gaze from Creighton's smug face to see Franco restraining Edward.

"Damn you, damn you, stop that! I agreed!" Edward's braid whipped around as he struggled against Franco's hands, hoisting him into the air. His legs flailed wildly as he screamed. "Stop it!"

Two more lashes keened in the air, in rapid succession. The whip curled around Roy's ankle, tugging a little and coming away with a slick sensation of blood. The next blow was on the arches of his feet. Roy groaned through his gritted teeth, but he continued to stare at Creighton from under his lowered lashes. He couldn't hold his head up, his entire will unexpectedly concentrating on letting Edward know, somehow, that Roy was strong enough. He didn't want to give Creighton the satisfaction, but for some inexplicable reason, he didn't want Edward to see him truly break.

The whip paused, and Roy took the chance to raise his head. He stuck out his tongue, running it along the edge of his mouth where blood had pooled from the cut on his cheek. Baring his teeth, he managed a shrug.

"That's it? I had worse in basic training," he observed.

The next whip strike caught him square on his right shoulder, across the burn, and he couldn't hide the flinch. Two more came in rapid succession, both across his feet. Roy closed his eyes, unwilling to allow more reaction than a grunt.

"Mustang, damn you, you're―" Edward's shout echoed through the expansive room. His entire body was shaking, and the chains grated on the floor as he came closer. In a second, Franco was in the way, and Edward glared up at the huge man. "Get out of my way. I'm gonna―"

"Do what? Smack Chervaise over the head with the bar?" Creighton grinned.

"I'll kick him, then," Edward retorted, sidestepping Franco neatly. "I'll―" His cry turned into a frustrated yelp, when Franco stepped behind him, reaching down to grab the bar. He lifted, until Edward was on his toes.

"Shut up, kid," Creighton interrupted. "I'm running the show here. I could beat the General until my arms are tired, and then beat him with Chervaise. You really want to see that?"

"I agreed!" Edward railed against Franco's hold. "There's no need for this. Damn it, stop, or you'll kill him!"

Creighton raised a hand. The whip strike whistled past Roy's ear, but didn't touch him. Roy looked up, wary.

"That's what I thought," Creighton said. He shrugged, and pointed at Roy. "You're not going to break from something so base...but you―" Creighton turned the finger on Edward― "will." He laughed at Edward's stunned expression. "I know your weakness, Fullmetal, even if you would never admit it on your own. You behave, and we won't have to repeat this."

Franco dropped Edward with a dull thud on the wooden floor. A heartbeat later, hands grabbed Roy around the waist and lifted, the jarring ripped through the cuts and injuries. Roy bit through his tongue to hold back the scream. The blood's metallic taste surprised him, and he shook off Franco's hold, lifting his chin.

"See, boy," Creighton said, pointing. "I was right. There's only one thing might break the General, but I bet I can figure out what it is."

Edward glared, but Roy couldn't muster the energy to do so as well. Instead, he turned, continuing to bite down on his lower lip to keep from crying out with each painful step. Franco put the blindfold over Roy's eyes before he caught more than a mere glimpse of the doorway. And then, Franco's hand was on Roy's left arm, pulling him forward.

Out the door, turn to the right, and five steps down. The wood was smoother under Roy's feet, and he wondered who would be cleaning up the blood. The slam of heavy doors echoed behind them.

"Look, General, it's just you and me now." Franco's voice was surprisingly gentle. "You put up a good show, but if you want a lift the rest of the way, I won't tell no one."

Franco caught Roy as his legs went out from under him. The grasp of a hand against his right arm made Roy groan, and the rest was lost in darkness.

 

 

 

Roy came to as he was lowered onto the bed. 

"I'll be back in a bit with your lunch," Franco told him, undoing the blindfold. He dug out a pocket knife from somewhere in his voluminous pants, and sliced neatly through the bindings. The ropes fell onto the bed, and Franco gathered them up. "Don't go anywhere. Erin's a pretty good cook."

"Sure," Roy managed to choke out, holding himself upright by sheer force of will as Franco left the room. The door clicked shut behind him, and Roy sagged.

It took several minutes before he could gather the strength to lower himself to the floor. Cradling his left hand close, he cautiously laid down on his side, and rolled onto his back. The score-marks and raw spots from the whip and rope were pressed into the cool flagstone, bringing temporary relief, but Roy's eyes were fixed on the underside of the cot.

First: wind. He put his right hand into his mouth, he swirled saliva across the finger, then ran the finger down his cheek, wetting the dried blood into a rudimentary ink. A few quick strokes on the underside of the bed frame, and he had half the circle. Rubbing his cheek a few more times, and he had enough blood to finish the simple array.

The second array, above the first and closer to the bed, was for oxygen. Roy swiped at the blood drying on his cheek and neck, and studied the results of his handiwork. Tentatively he pressed his right hand against the array, pleased when it lit up and he could feel the oxygen being pressed from his lungs. He let his hand drop with a gasp, and coughed a few times.

The third array, at the top of the row, was for fire. He'd need a spark to accompany it, and—a crucial detail—he'd need to make sure he was off the bed, too, or he'd end up part of the tinder. His right arm and shoulder shook with the pain of reaching across to smear the blood on his left shoulder and collarbone, but after several minutes, he'd managed to create the complex array.

He studied the three, satisfied, and rolled over on his stomach. He pushed himself up with his right hand, and drew breath through a tight throat before hoisting himself up on all fours. He stared at the bed for a second, and decided against attempting the climb. Instead, he scrambled towards the wall, and settled himself down, turning around to face the door.

Injury might be the order of the day, but there was no way someone was going to get the jump on him, too.


	7. patient

_The tygers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction._  
—William Blake, Proverbs of Hell

 

 

 

Roy opened his eyes when the door opened, but couldn't muster the energy to do more than stare as Franco stepped through the door with a metal bucket. Behind him was Kelly. The woman ignored Roy, setting a tray on the table and removing several items. Edward came next, blindfolded; Erin guided him in. There were towels or bedding of some sort, draped over the bar between Edward's wrists, and Roy would have snickered had he the energy. Kelly tucked the tray under her arm and left the room, but Roy paid her no mind.

Erin removed the linens and placed them on the bed, then took the blindfold off Edward while Franco undid the shackles. The two moved swiftly, soon leaving Roy alone with Edward. 

"Unexpected..." Roy couldn't manage more than that, and coughed. His throat hurt, and the skin on his cheek was tight when he tried to move his jaw. He started to shrug, but the thin scores across his skin complained at that movement, as well. So he closed his eyes, and waited to see what Edward would do, instead.

"Damn it, Mustang," Edward growled. Several things clattered on the table, then Edward's heavy tread approached. Water sloshed. Edward's voice, when it came again, was closer than Roy expected. "You are the biggest damn stubborn fuckin' asshole I've ever had the displeasure of seeing whipped," he muttered, but there was a tremulous note in the last word that surprised Roy.

"Admit it," Roy whispered, his eyes still closed. "You'd give years of your life to have been the one with the whip."

In the long silence, Roy opened his eyes.

Edward knelt beside Roy's legs, tucking his white gloves into his pants pockets. "You really think that?" His hands trembled, and there was a catch in his voice. 

Roy couldn't think of what to say. Perhaps silence could suffice as apology. He shifted against the wall and groaned.

"So you _are_ human." Edward sat back on his heels. A clap, and something sizzled. Steam drifted off the bowl of water. "You stay there, Mustang."

"Of course. I'm not about to pass up the room service."

Edward muttered something rude, and studied Roy's left foot. He glanced up shyly at Roy—as if asking permission—and lifted Roy's foot. Edward placed the ankle gently across his thigh. His left hand sloshed in the water bowl, and Roy had to bite back a surprised cry when Edward pressed a washcloth against the ball of Roy's foot. Edward froze, waiting, and Roy panted for a second before calming.

"Sorry," Edward mumbled.

"Just...warn me next time." Roy considered telling Edward not to bother at all, but something in the tense set of the young man's shoulders suggested Roy would be ignored. "Sure you don't want me to sit on the bed?"

"And get water all over where you'll be sleeping?" Edward dabbed at the cuts on Roy's foot. He rinsed the washcloth, his metal hand holding Roy's ankle across Edward's thigh, surprisingly gentle for all Edward's natural and mechanical strength.

Roy's throat hurt too much, but his mind still chattered: Edward could get rid of the water easily enough. And if he went so far as to admit the truth to himself, he was having the damnedest time keeping his foot from jerking in Edward's hands. He couldn't help it, though, when Edward's knuckles brushed the arch of his foot.

"What?" Edward looked up. His eyes were wide and anxious.

"Ah..." Roy hoped he wasn't blushing. "Startled me."

"Startled you..." Edward narrowed his eyes, contemplative. "You mean you're _ticklish_."

Any answer died on Roy's lips when he noticed the mischievous gleam in Edward's eyes. Wasn't it bad enough Edward was washing him off like a helpless child? Roy glared.

"Heh," Edward said, and bent back to his work. Roy relaxed once it became obvious that Edward was doing his best to wash the dirt and blood as gently as possible. Another clap, and Edward showed Roy the newly-made bundle of wrapping. "This part probably _will_ tickle," Edward warned him.

Roy nodded, bracing himself. His shoulder blades were pressed against the stone wall, and he realized some of the whip-marks were probably going to start bleeding when he pulled away—not to mention leaving a big blood stain behind. Meanwhile, Edward was curled over Roy's foot, twisted sideways in a compact arch, carefully applying some sort of salve to Roy's foot. Edward's fingers, blunt-tipped and strong, pressed in just enough to not be ticklish, but still light enough that it didn't hurt too much. Roy let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and closed his eyes, falling into a drowsy state.

He roused when Edward gently set down one foot, and shifted around, reheating the water before picking up Roy's other foot. Roy wondered what to say—Thank you? Don't bother? Really, I can do it myself?—but pushed it aside. Everything hurt with every breath, countless thin stripes across his back and arms sealed to the stone with dried blood. Roy gritted his teeth, staring at the solid wooden door rather than Edward's attentive expression, fixed on what he was doing.

"Fullmetal..."

"Elric," Edward corrected absently, but without rancor.

Roy rolled his eyes. "Elric. When we're done with my feet, if you―"

"We'll do the rest." Something in his tone put Roy on alert. It was too guarded, too businesslike.

"What aren't you telling me?" Roy wished he had the strength to shake Edward away from wringing out the washcloth. The water was already tainted pink.

"Havoc," Edward whispered, ducking his head. "They've got Havoc somewhere else, here."

Roy closed his eyes with a sigh, as what he'd seen suddenly made sense. "What did Creighton say?"

"He gave me a choice," Edward said, flatly. "If I said no again, one of you would die. But he'd let me choose." Edward snorted and set down the washcloth, then picked up the jar of salve. "I don't want either of you to die," he added, in an undertone.

"What proof did he show you?"

"Havoc's pictures of his sister. Carries them everywhere. And after you left, Creighton brought me...one of Havoc's fingers." He capped the jar of salve. "Right ring finger, with his class ring still on it." Edward dug in his pocket, and pulled out a thick gold band. The sapphire glittered in the low light.

Roy's blood ran cold. "Fuck." 

"Yeah, that was about my response." Edward put the ring away, his jaw set. He wrapped Roy's foot in bandages, halting with a furious expression. "Damn it, Mustang, why'd you have to be so stubborn? Couldn't you for once just give way and let them think they'd won?"

Pot, meet kettle, Roy wanted to say. Instead, he returned Edward's look with a level stare. "I considered it. But I doubted you'd do anything but think it was a trap, and it had to convince you, too."

"It would've convinced me." Edward didn't say it with a great deal of conviction, and his cheeks were flushed. "I don't know you that well, sir." Edward frowned and tied off the wrapping around Roy's ankles. Walking forward on his knees, Edward knelt by Roy's side, studying the whip marks on Roy's collarbones. Edward's lip curled, and his look was suddenly quite amused. "Okay, where is it?"

"Where is what?" Roy opened his eyes wide, more than a little uncomfortable that Edward was leaning into him, looking both delighted and somewhat predatory.

"The arrays, you stubborn Alchemist." Edward ran a finger down Roy's collarbone. "You're all smeared, and unless you turned cat and tried a tongue bath, I'd bet you've got an array hidden in this room."

Roy grinned. "Under the bed. Wind, fire, and one for locking oxygen out of the area."

"Like what you used to―" Edward cut off, and turned away to drag the water closer. When he faced Roy again, he was all business.

"When I what?" Roy stalled, not wanting to see Edward's reaction to the worst of the injuries.

"In the fire." Edward wrung out the washcloth and caught Roy's jaw. "Stop talking."

He swiped at Roy's cheek, rough at first, but easing up as he continued to clean the wound. His metal fingers were cool against Roy's jaw, and Roy's eyes slowly closed again, fading out. Edward's words called him back, and Roy blinked.

"You keep zoning out." Edward was only inches from Roy's face, pushing Roy's chin up. Roy had to crane his neck a little to see what Edward was doing, and Edward scowled. "Damn it, Mustang...Okay." Edward dropped his hands to his thighs, and sat back, his spine curved in a casual bend, his shoulders relaxed, his stomach pulled in as his gaze flicked across Roy's body. "Do you want me to spread out the blanket so you can lay down, or do you want to sit up?"

"For what?" Roy felt dazed. "Sit up is fine."

Edward leaned over Roy to run his fingers across Roy's shoulder, where the skin met the wall. Roy shivered, but Edward didn't seem to notice. Edward sat back, pushing his braid over his shoulder with an aggravated snort. "I can pull your legs so you don't put your feet against the floor, or help you by the arm." 

Roy opened his mouth to answer, and shut it with a snap, glaring as he realized. When Edward gave him an innocent look, Roy glared even harder. "Fullmetal, I'm not an invalid."

"You're exhausted and injured. It's a fact, not a shame."

"Still." Roy gave up on the glare when Edward didn't flinch, and waved the fingers of his right hand at Edward. "Whichever. I don't know."

"Arm, then," Edward said. Rather than get up and go around Roy's legs, however, he just came up to a crouch, stepping over Roy's thighs and settling down by Roy's left side. Getting his hands around Roy's left arm, Edward waited for a moment. "When you're ready." 

Roy pushed away from the wall with a grunt, crab-walking awkwardly. Edward assisted him until Roy was several feet away from the wall. Edward stayed where he was, his hands on Roy's arm, as Roy got his balance.

"Where'd you learn..." Roy glanced down at Edward's hands—the tanned flesh one, the silvery metal one—but Edward didn't loosen his hold.

"Alphonse," Edward said, one hand sliding from Roy's arm to snag the water bucket and pull it closer. He moved around behind Roy, one hand constantly on Roy, gently, just the fingertips, as though steadying Roy, or perhaps reassuring him that Edward was close by. "When he first came back," Edward continued, "his body was new and _holy fucking shit_."

"Hunh?" Roy frowned. He started to twist to see, but doing so hurt too much. Edward's hand on his side, he realized, was trembling, and he could hear a soft exhalation, as though Edward were shocked. "Full― Elric?"

"Damn it," Edward murmured. "I'm going to enjoy disemboweling that bastard."

"It's not―"

"Don't even say it." The water sloshed noisily, but the washcloth's touch on Roy's shoulder was light, almost hesitant. The water stung, and Roy's skin shivered again.

"You didn't let me finish," Roy protested.

"I've got a good idea." Edward's left hand pressed against Roy's head, insistent but cautious. "Lean forward so I can see just how bad it is." He was silent for several seconds, the washcloth unmoving against Roy's skin. Roy shifted, and Edward hissed.

"What?" 

"You couldn't clean this up yourself," Edward interrupted his thoughts. "And I do know you well enough to know that's what you're thinking." He was quiet again, the washcloth beginning to move in small circles across Roy's shoulders. When he spoke again, his tone was subdued, and hesitant. "Would you...if it were Hughes here, would you have been so..."

"Maes." Roy closed his eyes. He knew the answer, and knew the one word was answer enough for Edward, too. 

Roy sighed, focusing on his breathing, trying to ignore the stinging while Edward carefully washed each whip-score. He had no idea how long it took, but every now and then Edward would mutter something inaudible, and Roy hid his smile, amazed he could be so amused despite the wish to demand Franco come knock him out. It would save him the agony of feeling the warm water running down his back, catching in the grooves sliced across his skin.

That was the reason, and not because he felt jumpy, off-balance, with Edward speaking so casually to him, moving and touching and helping as though this were a perfectly normal thing to do. It was due to his experience with Alphonse, but Roy wasn't sure whether that knowledge helped. That had to be the reason Edward's touch was so careful, yet so deft. It didn't make Roy feel any better.

 

 

 

"Mustang," Edward whispered, his breath stirring the hairs across Roy's ear. Roy shook himself mentally, and hummed sleepily. Edward chuckled, a little, and Roy frowned. "I'm...I..." He huffed for a moment, and then spoke more forcefully. "Undo your pants."

"Un― what?" Roy sat up straight, and pain shot through his back and shoulders.

"The blood's run down...and there are cuts that went down across your hips," Edward explained patiently. "Look, do you want me to remind you that whatever you've got, I've seen? Alphonse and I are both guys, too―"

"Can it, Fullmetal." Roy slowly moved his right hand, picking at the buttons on his pants with awkward fingers. He gritted his teeth as Edward gently tugged the pants and boxers down to below Roy's hips, washing the remainder of the blood.

"Your pants protected your skin, but there'll be some bruising, I think." Edward's human fingers ran up Roy's side to Roy's left shoulder, pressing Roy forward. "Lean over as best you can. I'm going to start applying the salve. Then I'll bandage and we can eat."

"No food." Roy felt queasy, tilting forward at such an angle.

"You have to eat, Mustang." Edward's slick fingers ran in long strokes, back and forth across Roy's back, following the whip lines. It prickled, and Roy lowered his head, his muscles straining from the awkward position.

Edward fell silent, working efficiently from Roy's neck and shoulders, down his back, to the bruises across his hips. A rustle of cloth warned Roy, and Edward silently guided him back up to a sitting position. Roy didn't get warning, however, when Edward hugged him from behind, until he realized Edward was passing the bandage around Roy's chest. Roy tensed, though, when Edward did it again, although he noticed the young man seemed to be vigilant about not leaning into Roy's back.

Roy kept his breathing even, his eyes focused on the far wall as Edward's movements lulled him back a stupor. The shift and drape, the hands brushing his chest as Edward fumbled for the bandage, passing it from one hand to the other; Roy struggled to consider Creighton's intentions and what Roy could do. It was preferable to noticing Edward's soft breath against his ear each time Edward leaned forward to wrap another layer of bandage around his chest.

When Edward began wrapping Roy's shoulder and right arm, hissing in annoyance at the whip-scores slicing through the burns and bruises, Roy was almost disappointed that Edward was done. It had been good, to have someone doing something like that for him. And having admitted that he liked it, Roy promptly squashed the awareness down into that secret box where he kept all his other hopes and wishes. Letting people close just didn't work in the light of day, he'd learned through long experience. And the rare chance to be taken care of—perhaps even be protected—was something that would end the minute Edward stood up.

"Done," Edward said. "I just want to look at your left hand, now."

"That, I can―"

"Mustang," Edward growled.

Roy wasn't sure whether to roll his eyes or glare. He settled for grunting in annoyance while Edward unwrapped his left hand, whistled, and gently rubbed salve across the burns. Roy's hand jerked in Edward's grasp.

Roy gave Edward a wry look. "Hurts like a son of a bitch," he whispered.

Edward surprised him by chuckling. "Yep, you are human in there, _somewhere_. This is from having your hand out against the array?"

"How much do you remember?"

"An explosion, and then..." Edward shrugged, and bent his head over Roy's hand. His golden hair fell down, masking his features as he wrapped the hand, from second knuckle to wrist, quickly and efficiently. "I remember seeing an array on the wall. Figured that must've been you..."

"Yeah," Roy said.

Edward lowered Roy's hand onto Edward's knee, still regarding the bandages with a thoughtful eye as he tied off the linen around Roy's wrist. The metal plates of Edward's knee were padded by the bandages against Roy's palm.

"But I wasn't counting on people bursting in through the door," Roy added.

"Wouldn't that be good?"

"No. Floods the room with oxygen. If the fire's still smoldering, it will explode." Roy sighed, and allowed a rueful smile. "Which, coincidentally, is exactly what happened."

"So you're actually a three-trick pony," Edward observed dryly. He put a hand on Roy's left elbow. "Up on the bed, now. How much help― no, scratch that. I'll lift you up, and then just lean sideways and I'll guide you onto the bed."

"I don't get a choice this time?" 

"Al didn't give me half as much grief, so...no, you don't." Edward slanted a sideways grin at Roy, and hoisted him upwards. Roy flinched as his feet took his weight, but Edward maneuvered him quickly onto the bed. Roy started to roll over on his stomach, but Edward stopped him. "Food, first."

"Not hungry," Roy gasped, trying to cover the fact that his right hand was clenched against the blanket. He struggled to catch his breath from the lancing pain in his feet and back.

"You're skin and bones, General." No heat, and altogether too informal, despite the title. Edward stood up, brushing off the seat of his leather pants. A quick clap behind Roy told him Edward had probably reheated the soup, and a second later the bed creaked as Edward sat down next to him, bowl and spoon in hand.

"I bet Alphonse was just peaches and light," Roy grumbled, eyeing the bowl. His left hand was in his lap, and his right arm was throbbing just from the move from the floor to the low bed.

"Not really," Edward said, his face lowered as he stirred the soup. "Are you going to be able to..." He held up the spoon.

Roy frowned, and sighed, taking the spoon. "Yes, but..."

"I'll hold the bowl," Edward offered.

Roy considered that for a moment before nodding. It was no worse than having Edward wipe blood off nearly half of Roy's body, after all. Roy leaned forward, spooning the soup, slurping a little out of nervousness at how close Edward was, head cocked as he watched intently. Roy paused, glaring, and Edward arched an eyebrow.

"The second I see that hand waver," Edward informed him, "I'm spoon-feeding you."

It was Roy's turn to growl, but Edward only gave him a flat stare.

"I'm not that bad off," Roy said. "I don't see why you're treating me like this."

"Mustang, there's a blood mark on that wall that's larger than me." Edward watched, intent, as Roy took another spoonful of the broth. "You want me to start with that, and work backwards through your injuries? You're hurt. Just accept the help gracefully for once, would you?"

"I've accepted help, before," Roy told him, frowning.

"Once? Twice? I'm surprised the occasions weren't marked as national holidays." Edward stared at Roy's hand, suspiciously.

"Stop that, Elric." Roy waved the empty spoon, before stirring the bowl again. He knew there was another meaning to his words, and Edward's slanted glance down at the bowl, and past it to gaze at Roy's bandaged chest, told Roy that Edward caught the underlying meanings, as well. "What kind of work do they want you to do?"

"I'll tell you on one condition."

Roy raised his eyebrows, and licked the spoon clean before lowering it to the bowl again. "And," he prompted.

"I'm not stupid, Mustang." Edward's cheeks were pink, as if embarrassed or perhaps annoyed. "You spent a lot of the time I worked for you, gaining points off what I did. But you did a lot of things that got you nothing."

"Equivalent trade," Roy quipped, but his voice sounded flat in his ears. The room felt stifling. He frowned at the bowl, cradled in Edward's hands, so close to Roy's chin.

"That excuse worked when I was fifteen. Protecting us...you took risks on which you never received a return."

Roy could feel himself leaning away from Edward, sensing the unspoken question hanging in the air between them. He stared at the dark brown liquid, stirring it up and watching the color shift to golden as the broth was mixed, then fade as it separated.

"I got a return on every investment." Roy kept his voice as neutral as possible. "You're here, and not on some train heading back to Kavanaugh, after all. Or perhaps my life isn't a big enough return." He twisted the words, making them light. Something in his gut ached, although he knew the whip hadn't reached that far inside him. Roy ignored it, even as he recognized he had gotten pretty good at ignoring things, in his life.

"Like I was saying," Edward whispered, his gaze following the spoon's path from bowl to mouth. "Sometimes equivalent trade isn't true."

"It is true, and it defines everything in our world. You just get aggravated when you can't see clearly the terms of the deal."

"You still haven't answered the question." 

Roy paused, spoon at his lips, and met Edward's eyes. The young man's golden irises were swallowed by the dark of his pupil in the low light, but Edward's expression was puzzled, curious, perhaps even a little hurt. Roy swallowed the last spoonful of broth, and dropped the spoon in the bowl.

"I presume there's another bowl for you," Roy said, pointedly. He glanced towards the table, flinching at the pain from the bruises around his neck.

"Yeah. I get stew. There's also some water, if you want it," Edward replied, lowering the bowl to the floor by his feet. He picked up the jar of salve and set it in his lap, screwing the top off with a quick motion. "One last thing."

"What?" Roy frowned, looking down, and the next thing he knew, Edward's hand was in front of Roy's face. It hovered there, uncertain, at an odd angle for Edward's left hand to reach Roy's right cheek, and then it was stroking the cut across Roy's cheek. The fingers followed the line of the slash, and Roy had to close his eyes, unable to risk Edward seeing the truth of his thoughts.

I like this feeling, Roy whispered to himself, uncertainly. I like that he's grown, that he's no longer a boy...that he doesn't see me as a Brigadier General or the notorious Flame Alchemist. Roy realized Edward's fingers were still stroking the cut, and he opened his eyes just enough to see Edward's face, unmasked and vulnerable, misery shining through in every line as Edward stared at the wound. Roy let his eyelids fall closed again, feeling the misery echo in his own heart, beating against the wall of his independent pride.

"We are a great deal alike," Roy murmured, half to himself.

"Time was, I'd kill someone who suggested that." Edward dropped his hand, closing the jar tightly. He stood up. "Lay down on your stomach. You should get some rest, if you're going to recover."

"You still didn't tell me what Creighton―"

"We're even, then, 'cause you didn't answer my question, either. Now, lie down, Mustang. If I have to redo any of those bandages, you're getting salt, not salve."

"I'll fry you if you try. I'm fine like..." Everything faded, and Roy shook himself, opening his eyes to see Edward's face only inches from his. The young man was grinning like a maniac. It took Roy several heartbeats to school his face into a scowl. "Fullmetal..." 

A hand on his shoulder and a low, evil chuckle were his only answer. Roy yawned, taking refuge in the sudden sleepiness to lie down, unresisting, as Edward raised Roy's legs onto the bed and shifted him about as easily as though he were half Edward's size. When Edward turned Roy's head so his injured cheek faced up, Roy's sluggish brain finally caught up.

"The broth," Roy mumbled, eyes closing. Cloth brushed his arms as Edward pulled the blanket over him. "Edward..."

"Shut up, Mustang. Even you wouldn't fall for hot chocolate a second time."

"You drugged me?" Roy tried to sit up, annoyed. "Now is the last time I want―" 

A cool metal palm on his left shoulder gently pushed him down again. Then two hands took his right hand, holding it gently and curving his arm to press against the underside of the bed.

"This is the one for..." Edward moved about, not letting go of Roy's hand, and Roy opened heavy-lidded eyes to see Edward lying on the floor, peering under the bed. "Wind," Edward said, satisfied, and pressed Roy's hand against it. "And this...is air. And this is fire."

"No spark," Roy sighed.

"You remember where each is?"

Roy nodded into the pillow. Edward's voice sounded quite far away. There was a resounding clap, and light flared against Roy's eyelids. Then Edward was taking his hand again, rubbing Roy's index finger against something protruding from the bed frame.

"Flint," Edward said. "There's your spark. Got all that, or do you need sign posts?"

"Fullmetal," Roy growled, as best he could manage, sleepily amused that it sounded more like a purr. "Damn you for..." His yawned. His entire body felt heavy, but the aches were fading into a blissful absence.

"Mustang, shut up already." Edward sounded amused. "You need to be rest and let the medicine do its job."

Edward's voice faded, only the tone indicating a certain rude informality Edward had rarely shown in the past except when truly angry. But Edward's words, filtering into Roy's sluggish mind, didn't make a great deal of sense.

"...What pisses me off the most is that..." The words were barely audible over the sounds of sloshing water. Wood scraped against stone; perhaps Edward was moving the stool closer to the table. "...But no, not Roy Mustang..."

Roy wondered what Edward meant, noting only the aggrieved tone. Roy was certain he'd been about to say something else to Edward, but sleep was too near and Edward too far away.

 

 

 

Roy dreamt.

Crimson filled his dreams, sometimes, not a nightmare, but an overwhelming presence. Perhaps blood, perhaps fire, perhaps urgency, but his body was sluggish and his mind was dull. The scratchy fabric of the pillow against his cheek merged into the dream as a wool-dressed shoulder under his chin; the shift and curl of the blanket against his arm was the comforting grasp of a rare accepted touch.

Fingers stroked his forehead and through his hair, and Roy sighed, unwilling to open his eyes, clinging to the dream's affection. He instinctively turned into the touch, hoping for more, and the fingers were still for a moment. The dream hesitated, despite Roy's longing, and then the hand shifted to scratch lightly behind his ears. Roy knew by that single touch the truth of the illusion but welcoming it regardless. It was better than the emptiness. Dreamscape images danced in his mind, flickering, the touch too familiar, yet unknown.

"Edward," he whispered, in the dream, or perhaps out loud. It was one and the same, to him.

The fingers stilled again, the touch lightening. Loss struck Roy as surely as the moment he'd known, years before. The illusion was incomplete.

"Maes," Roy breathed, uncertain, hoping...

The hand was close, its warmth a tangible presence, and Roy's chest ached with longing. Then the fingers descended again, stroking gently, running through the thick strands of Roy's hair.

"Shh, sleep," someone said.

Roy smiled at his friend's voice, and continued to dream.


End file.
